<f. 


IN  THE  SHADOW 
OF  LANTERN  STREET 


UNIV.  OF  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANGELES 


IN  THE  SHADOW 
OF  LANTERN  STREET 


BY 

HERBERT  G.  WOODWORTH 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1920, 

BY  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 
(INCORPORATED) 


IN  THE  SHADOW 
OF  LANTERN  STREET 


2134O18 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF 
LANTERN  STREET 


CHAPTER  I 

Four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  through  the  great 
Cheng- Yang-Men  gate  the  traffic,  congested  from  both 
directions,  poured  into  the  city  and  out  of  it.  With 
like  impatience  at  the  delay,  with  like  weird  shouts  and 
imprecations,  the  'rickshaws  from  the  city  struggled  to 
get  away  and  all  the  crowd  from  without  pushed  and 
strove  to  get  within  the  sheltering  walls  of  Peking. 

Along  the  roadway,  beneath  the  towering  gate  with 
its  huge  overhanging  parapets  that  guarded  the  en- 
trance, soldierly  policemen  kept  the  lines  in  order,  the 
white  bands  of  their  caps  standing  out  clearly  from 
the  mass  of  bare  heads.  Each  officer  wore  a  sword 
at  his  belt  and  a  short  rifle  slung  from  a  shoulder-strap 
across  his  back.  These  were  for  serious  offenders, 
but  a  long  black  stick  lent  force  to  every  command, 
and  now  and  then  might  be  heard  its  brutal  thwack  as 
it  struck  some  poor  offending  coolie  across  the  shoul- 
ders when  he  ducked  to  save  his  head. 

Through  the  dust,  above  the  strange  explosive  calls 
of  the  Chinese,  rose  the  cry:  "Ho!  Ho!"  Each 
'rickshaw-man,  every  chair-bearer  and  all  the  crowd 

i 


2     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

on  foot  gave  way,  leaving  space  between  the  -two 
streams  for  a  carriage  that  came  hurrying  to  the  rail- 
way station  just  outside  the  wall.  Something  in  the 
inflection  of  that  Ho!  told  them  that  a  Government 
official  approached,  and  a  Government  man  was  a 
superior  being.  The  sturdy  Mongolian  pony  trotted 
at  his  top  speed,  but  the  footman,  dressed  like  the 
driver  in  a  long  blue  tunic  trimmed  with  red,  easily 
kept  pace  with  the  horse,  holding  with  one  hand  to  his 
bridle,  and  shouting  with  his  spare  breath  a  full  de- 
scription of  the  gentleman  insid'e  the  ornate  little 
coupe. 

The  Mongolian  March  wind  had  been  howling  for 
two  days,  filling  the  air  with  a  murky  cloud  of  dust 
carried  down  from  the  north,  trying  its  best  to  cut 
through  the  quilted  garments  of  the  well-to-do,  and 
stinging  with  its  icy  lash  the  bare  backs  of  the  poor- 
To-day  the  sun  was  shining,  and  the  road  lay  warm 
and  peaceful  beside  the  grey  stone  wall  where  a  long 
train  of  camels  and  donkeys  laden  with  skins  and  furs, 
pig  bristles  and  soja  bean  cake  from  Mongolia  drew 
near  to  the  crowd  and  to  the  great  gate  that  opens  to 
the  south  between  the  outer  Chinese  city  and  the  more 
favored  Tartar  City  lying  within  the  second  wall. 

Close  to  the  gate,  in  an  angle  where  they  might 
avoid  the  crush  of  traffic,  four  men  squatted  on  the 
ground  and  ate  their  evening  meal  thus  early,  for 
their  day  began  and  ended  with  the  sunlight.  The 
eldest  of  the  four,  a  grizzled,  weather-beaten  man  who 
wore  his  queue  pieced  out  at  great  length  with  horse 
hair,  ate  greedily  from  a  blue  and  white  bowl,  shovel- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET          3 

ling  the  steaming  rice  soup  into  his  wide  mouth  with 
a  pair  of  wooden  chop-sticks.  He  held  the  bowl  close 
to  his  lips  and  as  he  ate  his  black  little  eyes  narrowly 
watched  a  lad  who  leaned  against  the  wall  and  waited 
for  him  to  finish. 

A  ragged  blue  cotton  shirt  and  breeches  were  the 
boy's  only  clothing.  His  face  and  hands  and  feet 
were  dirty  with  the  dust  of  many  roads  and  many  days. 
One  foot  touched  the  basket  in  which  he  had  brought 
his  master's  dinner,  but  his  eyes  never  wandered  from 
the  old  man's  face. 

One  of  the  four  emptied  his  bowl,  and  standing  up 
glanced  back  to  where  four  'rickshaws  like  miniature 
chaises,  their  shafts  in  the  air,  waited  for  their  steeds 
to  draw  them.  Then  as  his  glance  came  back  to  the 
boy  he  spoke : 

"  Pai-se  is  no  child  of  yours." 

The  old  man's  mouth  was  so  full  of  rice  that  he  could 
not  answer,  but  he  darted  a  quick  glance  to  see  if  the 
boy  understood  that  name  Pai-se,  for  it  meant  white. 

The  boy's  eyes,  no  longer  fastened  upon  his  master, 
met  the  curious  gaze  of  the  speaker,  and  the  quick 
color  came  to  betray  his  secret.  Other  boys  had  told 
him  that  he  was  white  but  never  had  he  dared  speak 
of  it  —  much  less  to  ask  any  questions. 

"Hsiao  (little  'un),"  the  old  man  had  swallowed 
his  food  at  great  risk  of  choking,  and  now  his  long 
yellow  teeth  protruding  beneath  the  curling  lip  seemed 
to  hiss  his  commands : 

"  Kuai  chii  (cut  along  now)  !  " 

The  lad  picked  up  his  basket,  joined  the  crowd  that 


4     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

turned  south  into  the  Chinese  city,  and  disappeared 
down  the  broad  Chien  Men  Street. 

Soon  he  had  passed  the  Street  of  Lanterns  and  taken 
a  narrow  lane  bearing  east  by  the  shoemaker's  shops 
and  the  little  shops  where  they  made  jewelry  of  silver 
with  the  feathers  of  the  bluebird's  wing.  And  then 
he  was  out  in  open  fields  where  were  only  scattered 
huts  built  of  mud  and  stone,  windowless  huts  that  told 
of  poverty  and  disease. 

Not  far  away  towered  the  circular  Temple  of 
Heaven,  its  blue-tiled  roof  gleaming  like  a  huge  sap- 
phire in  the  sun.  The  triple  terraces  of  carved  white 
marble  upon  which  the  Temple  rested  looked  from 
where  the  boy  stood  like  a  white  streak  beneath  the 
Temple.  He  had  known  that  view  of  it  all  the  ten 
years  of  his  life,  for  he  had  lived  them  all  in  this  very 
spot.  And  it  had  seemed  very  beautiful  to  him,  in- 
accessible behind  its  high  wall  as  the  moon  and  the 
stars.  And  beautiful  as  they  too  were,  there  had 
never  been  any  one  to  whom  he  could  talk  about  it. 

Into  one  of  the  dingiest  of  these  huts  the  lad  en- 
tered, and  setting  his  basket  on  the  dirt  floor  called 
out:  "Ya-tzu!" 

From  the  inner  room  a  woman  came  slowly,  pain- 
fully stamping  her  distorted  feet,  encased  in  three-inch 
shoes.  Her  black  hair,  glossy  with  grease,  was  coiled 
about  her  head,  and  she  wore  a  blue  cotton  jacket  and 
pantaloons. 

"  You're  back  early,"  she  said.  "  Was  he  cross?  " 
The  wistful  look  in  the  tired  eyes  raised  to  hers  was 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      5 

the  only  answer.  It  was  the  hungry  look  of  the 
motherless  child,  and  the  childless  woman,  who  had 
been  mother  to  this  boy  since  he  was  a  month  old,  un- 
derstood it.  Hadn't  she  longed  for  children  of  her 
own,  and  didn't  she  weep  over  this  sensitive  little  fel- 
low, kicked  and  beaten  by  his  master,  almost  as  though 
he  had  been  her  own  ?  Drawing  him  to  her  she  stroked 
the  close-cropped  head. 

"  One  of  them  said  I  was  white,"  the  boy  whispered. 
"I'm  not  white,  am  I,  Ya-tzu?  Only  the  foreign 
devils  are  white." 

"  Dogs  can  only  bark  or  whine  when  they're  not 
growling,"  the  woman  answered.  "  Now  run,  Hsiao, 
and  gather  your  faggots  before  Hao-tzu  gets  back." 

And  as  he  went  in  search  of  firewood  Hsiao  was 
pondering  ^  the  strangeness  of  life.  Even  his  name 
was  not  a  real  name ;  every  boy  was  called  "  Little  'un  " 
but  that  seemed  to  be  the  only  name  he  had.  And 
Ya-tzu  —  why,  that  meant  Duck.  She  must  have 
some  other  name.  Hao-tzu, —  well,  it  was  plain 
enough  why  he  was  called  the  Rat:  he  looked  it,  and 
he  acted  it.  He  had  heard  him  spoken  of  as  Tuan; 
a  stranger  once  said  "  Mr.  Tuan,"  but  Hao-tzu  must 
be  his  name. 

And  they  were  not  his  father  and  mother  —  Master 
and  Ya-tzu  they  had  always  been,  and  even  Ya-tzu 
would  never  tell  him  why.  White!  Oh,  no,  it 
couldn't  be  that  he  was  one  of  the  foreign  devils.  He 
had  never  been  bad  enough  to  deserve  that. 

Faggots  were  getting  scarcer.     The  bigger  boys  got 


6      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

the  best  of  them.  When  he  came  home  in  the  dusk 
he  thought  to  slip  in  unnoticed,  but  the  Rat  was  al- 
ways watchful. 

"  Is  that  all  the  wood  you  gathered,  you  lazy  good- 
for-nothing  whelp !  "  he  snarled,  and  little  Hsiao,  who 
knew  his  moods,  crept  to  his  bed  on  a  pile  of  rags  in 
the  corner,  glad  enough  to  get  along  without  supper  if 
he  might  escape  the  cane.  For  a  long  time  hunger  kept 
him  awake,  and  he  entertained  himself  with  visions  of 
flight  into  the  great  wonderland  of  the  Tartar  City, 
where  one  might  see  the  walls  of  the  inner  Forbidden 
City  with  its  Purple  Palace  and  the  most  sacred  and 
mysterious  abode  of  the  Empress  Dowager. 

Often  had  he  heard  her  mentioned  in  awed  whispers, 
and  had  pictured  her  as  a  great  deal  bigger  and  more 
terrifying  than  Buddha  himself.  But  how  could  he 
take  his  friend  with  him  if  he  ran  away?  Before  he 
had  solved  that  difficulty  sleep  overtook  him,  and  when 
he  woke  the  light  was  coming  in  at  the  door  where 
the  Rat  stood  smoking  a  pipe,  and  his  little  friend 
who  lived  next  door  was  calling  him.  Darting  by  the 
old  man,  he  entered  a  yard  enclosed  by  a  mud  wall. 
A  few  handfuls  of  rice  straw  littered  the  ground,  and 
beside  them  a  tiny  donkey,  his  soft  grey  coat 
and  gentle  baby  face  a  pathetic  sight  to  the  lad  who 
loved  him,  and  who  knew  at  a  glance  that  the  poor 
little  fellow  was  too  tired  to  eat.  Sitting  down  be- 
side him,  Hsiao  put  his  arms  about  the  donkey's  neck ; 
the  soft  nose  rested  in  his  lap,  and  the  long  ears  dropped 
over  his  shoulder. 

If  the  donkey  had  a  name,  Hsiao  had  never  heard  it. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET     7 

He  called  him  Brother,  and  knew  that  the  coolie  who 
owned  him  let  him  for  twenty  cents  a  day. 

If  the  weather  was  bad,  or  work  was  scarce, 
Brother  had  a  rest,  but  many  a  time  he  tramped  under 
a  heavy  load  all  day  long  without  food  or  water.  In 
a  land  where  men  counted  for  so  little  and  women  for 
so  much  less,  there  was  no  sympathy  to  waste  on  a 
mere  animal. 

The  Rat  with  his  'rickshaw  had  gone  for  the  day 
when  Ya-tzu  found  the  two  little  friends  in  the  yard 
next  door  and  tossed  the  lad  an  extra  rice  cake  for 
his  breakfast. 

'  You're  hungry,"  she  said,  and  he,  knowing  that 
she  meant  more  than  that,  nodded  his  head  and  smiled. 
Something  about  that  smile  even  to  her  dull  mind 
spoke  unutterable  things.  It  seemed  always  to  be 
pleading  for  him.  She  had  a  basket  of  clothes  that 
she  carried  with  great  difficulty,  tottering  along  to- 
wards the  pool  just  outside  the  south  gate.  And  as  she 
went  the  boy  was  feeding  the  rice  cake  in  little  pieces 
to  the  donkey. 


CHAPTER  II 

An  hour  later,  the  housework  finished,  Hsiao,  also 
tottering,  set  out  for  the  south  gate.  Across  his 
shoulder  he  held  a  pole  from  each  end  of  which  dangled 
a  deep  wooden  pail. 

The  load  was  heavy  for  so  small  a  lad,  but  in  China 
a  part  of  every  day's  work  is  the  carrying  out  of 
sewage  and  putting  it  on  the  land.  A  sewer  to  the 
Chinese  is  but  the  wasteful  folly  of  Europeans. 

Outside  the  south  gate  the  Rat  had  his  tiny  garden 
patch,  sheltered  by  a  rude  wall.  Here  radishes,  greens 
and  cress  were  growing  even  in  March,  and  here  Hsiao 
worked  five  or  six  hours  every  day. 

In  a  muddy  pool  green  with  filthy  scum  some  women 
were  washing  clothes,  beating  them  at  the  water's 
edge  with  a  short,  thick  club.  Ya-tzu  was  one  of 
these,  and  beside  her  a  neighbor  chatted  as  she  dipped 
her  basket  of  vegetables  again  and  again  in  the  foul 
water. 

Four  hens  occupied  a  corner  of  the  garden,  and  had 
the  luxury  of  an  enclosure  almost  four  feet  square. 

One  of  them  had  contributed  an  egg  to  her  master's 
store,  and  Hsiao  picked  it  up  and  held  it  tenderly  while 
he  pondered  the  question  of  appropriating  it  to  his  own 
uses.  No  one  knew  that  the  egg  was  there;  he  was 
hungry,  and  it  would  be  so  easy  to  break  a  little  hole 

8 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      9 

in  the  shell  at  each  end,  and  how  good  it  would  taste ! 
Easy  enough  to  bury  the  shell  —  but  Ya-tzu  had 
taught  him  that  people  must  be  honest,  that  was  the 
most  important  thing  of  all ;  we  should  always  be  afraid 
to  turn  our  backs  to  each  other  if  it  weren't  for  that. 

He  looked  over  to  where  she  crouched  at  her  work, 
folding  the  wet  garment  on  a  flat  stone,  and  beating 
the  water  out  of  it.  She  had  taught  him  to  read, 
though  the  Rat  called  it  a  waste  of  time.  No,  he 
couldn't  eat  the  egg;  it  was  her  egg,  and  he  placed  it 
carefully  in  a  safe  place  till  he  should  go  home  to  din- 
ner. Perhaps  she  would  mix  it  with  rye  flour  and 
bake  it  in  a  dish  for  both  of  them. 

He  was  raking  where  the  earth  was  dry  when  some 
one  called  "  Hsiao !  "  It  sounded  like  See-ow  for  the 
initial  letter  H  only  intensifies  the  hiss  of  S.  Looking 
up  he  saw  Li,  who  lived  in  a  shanty  on  the  edge  of 
the  pool.  Li  was  the  oldest  of  twelve  children;  he 
was  nearly  thirteen,  and  his  father  was  so  rich  he  had 
three  wives.  Li  was  letting  his  hair  grow  so  that  he 
might  develop  a  queue. 

"  I  ran  away  from  the  factory,"  he  said.  "  The  old 
man  went  to  buy  more  brass  and  I  ran  —  to-night  I'll 
get  —  I've  found  an  egg!"  and  leaping  the  wall  he 
pounced  upon  Hsiao's  treasure.  But  when  he  tried  to 
get  out  again  with  it,  that  was  another  matter. 

"  Put  it  down,  Li,  and  don't  break  it,"  Hsiao  com- 
manded. 

"  One  egg!  "  Li  rejoined.  "  Why,  they're  only  ten 
cents  a  dozen." 

"  Then  leave  this  one  for  me." 


io      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  found  it,  and  I  shall  keep  it,"  Li  insisted. 

"  You  will  not  keep  it !     It  is  Ya-tzu's  egg." 

"  Oh!  a  duck's  egg!  Well,  I  shall  keep  it  just  the 
same,"  and  Li,  placing  it  on  top  of  the  wall,  was  about 
to  climb  over  when  the  smaller  boy  pulled  him  back 
with  such  violence  that  he  fell  in  a  heap. 

Before  Hsiao  could  regain  the  egg  Li  was  up,  his 
eyes  blazing  with  anger.  Screaming  like  a  wounded 
animal  he  rushed  at  the  little  fellow,  who  stood  his 
ground  manfully  and  grappled  with  him.  What  cour- 
age and  coolness  could  do  against  great  odds  the  sturdy 
Hsiao  did,  but  after  a  little,  Li,  towering  a  head  taller, 
by  sheer  weight  brought  him  down,  and  then  over  and 
over  they  rolled  on  the  ground  heedless  of  the  Rat's 
garden,  pounding,  scratching,  biting,  until  the  bigger 
boy  getting  astride  of  his  antagonist,  choked  him  into 
submission.  Then  finding  a  stone  ready  to  his  hand 
he  pounded  the  lad's  face  till  it  was  cut  and  bleeding. 

Hsiao  lay  very  still  and  white  as  Li  went  out  through 
the  gate,  but  the  egg  reposed  undisturbed  where  Li  had 
placed  it  on  the  wall. 

Ya-tzu  asked  no  questions;  the  egg  was  a  welcome 
treat  and  a  boy's  black  eye  and  other  bruises  were, 
after  all,  only  a  boy's  heritage.  Lucky  the  Rat  had 
not  found  that  egg  or  it  would  never  have  been  tasted 
by  the  two  who  shared  it. 

One  trait  in  the  boy's  character  was  revealed  in  this 
little  incident;  he  never  bore  the  slightest  resentment 
against  Li  for  his  rough  handling,  only  he  planned 
what  he  would  do  another  time  to  outwit  him.  It 
wasn't  enough  to  be  cool;  one  must  be  quick  to  think 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      n 

and  act.  Next  time  they  fought  he  meant  to  do  the 
choking. 

Then  came  the  happiest  days  Hsiao  had  ever  known. 
One  night  after  Ya-tzu  had  gone  to  bed  and  the  Rat 
was  entertaining  his  richest  patron,  a  rug-maker,  Hsiao 
heard  the  terms  of  a  trade  by  which  he  was  to  be  let  to 
the  rug-maker  for  a  month.  The  Rat  talked  glibly  of 
his  donkey,  and  the  terms  agreed  upon  were  forty 
cents  Mexican  per  day  for  boy  and  donkey  together. 

The  single  lamp  that  hung  from  the  low  ceiling 
threw  huge  shadows  of  the  two  men  on  the  wall;  the 
rug-maker's  long  thin  beard  made  a  funny  picture, 
switching  up  and  down  as  the  man  nodded  his  head. 
They  drank  many  little  cups  of  a  liquor  the  Rat  kept 
in  a  stone  jug. 

The  boy  could  hardly  sleep  he  was  so  excited  at  the 
thought  of  the  great  adventure,  and  as  the  Rat  had 
no  donkey  of  his  own  it  must  be  that  he  was  to  hire 
Brother  from  his  next-door  neighbor. 

Ya-tzu  showed  no  sign  of  anxiety  or  sorrow  at  his 
departure,  next  day,  but  the  Rat  was  there  and  she 
was  always  afraid  of  him.  No  explanation  was  made 
to  the  boy. 

"  I'm  going  to  take  you  to  a  friend  of  mine  to  work, 
and  mind  you  work,  you  little  dog!  "  the  old  man  said, 
as  he  came  in  leading  the  donkey. 

The  rug  factory  was  a  long  way  off  in  the  Chinese 
quarter  of  the  Tartar  City.  The  boy  had  never  been 
so  far  from  home,  and  it  seemed  thrilling  and  quite 
grown-up  to  be  taking  such  a  journey. 

The  Rat  trotted  on  ahead  with  his  empty  'rickshaw, 


12      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

and  the  two  little  friends  side  by  side  trotted  behind 
it.  There  was  no  luggage  —  both  were  wearing  their 
entire  wardrobe. 

There  was  no  ceremony  of  introduction  when  they 
came  to  the  little  yard  enclosing  the  factory,  and  met 
the  proprietor  who  carried  a  rattan  cane  and  peered 
critically  at  the  boy  and  the  donkey  to  see  whether  they 
looked  tough  enough  for  his  uses.  The  Rat  seemed 
anxious  to  get  away  —  perhaps  he  didn't  care  to  be 
questioned  —  but  he  waited  long  enough  to  assure  his 
patron : 

"  They're  not  very  big,  but  they'll  stand  no  end  o' 
work,  and  they  don't  need  much  to  eat." 

This  point  pleased  the  patron  so  heartily  that  he  hit 
the  donkey  across  the  hind  leg  to  test  his  temper. 

The  Rat  showed  his  teeth  in  a  grin  of  satisfaction, 
and  without  even  a  word  to  the  boy  was  gone. 

"  Follow  me  now  and  be  spry,"  said  the  rug-maker, 
and  led  the  way  into  a  low  shed  where  bales  of  rugs  in 
burlap  were  piled  high,  and  in  a  great  bin  were  count- 
less balls  of  yarn,  blue  and  grey,  red  and  brown,  yel- 
low, black  and  white.  Next  to  the  bin  was  another 
enormous  pile  of  yarn,  undyed,  and  this  in  big  bundles 
the  rug  man  and  one  of  his  coolies  began  loading  upon 
the  donkey's  back,  tying  it  on  with  ropes,  and  balancing 
the  load  with  great  skill.  When  they  had  finished,  the 
gentle  face  of  patient  little  Brother  looked  out  from 
under  a  mountain  of  yarn  —  enough  to  tax  the  broad 
back  of  a  dray  horse. 

The  boy  was  then  instructed  how  he  was  to  find 
the  dye  works  situated  seven  miles  north  of  the  Hsichi- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      13 

men  Gate  on  the  road  to  Tientsin.  The  rattan  cane 
administered  one  sharp  reminder  to  look  alive,  but 
neither  the  indignity  nor  the  smart  of  the  blow  im- 
pressed the  lad,  and  then  they  were  out  in  the  road, 
the  rug-maker  watching  them  out  of  sight  to  see  that 
he  got  his  money's  worth  for  forty  cents  in  Mexican 
silver. 

Outside  the  city  gate  Hsiao  untied  the  ropes  to 
transfer  a  great  pack  to  his  own  shoulders,  and  little 
Brother  felt  the  difference  and  showed  it  in  his  gait, 
taxing  the  lad  to  keep  pace  with  him.  Four  hours 
later  they  reached  the  dye  works  where  a  very  fat 
man  proceeded  to  carry  the  bundles  up  a  flight  of  stone 
steps  into  the  works.  Brother,  relieved  of  his  burden, 
began  to  graze  along  the  roadside  where  so  little  grew 
that  only  a  donkey  or  a  goat  could  have  found  it,  and 
Hsiao  following  the  fat  man  into  a  low-studded  room, 
all  stone,  saw  the  vats  in  which  the  dyer,  with  vege- 
table dyes,  the  secret  of  which  was  his  fortune,  trans- 
formed the  fibre  of  common  wool  into  yarns  of  soft 
but  enduring  hues. 

Answering  the  lad's  admiring  gaze  the  dyer  ex- 
plained :  "  Some  use  the  cheap  colors  of  chemicals 
.  that  come  across  Thibet  from  Germany.  They  do  not 
hold.  They  fade  out  in  the  sun.  Pah!  Have  they 
no  honor,  no  pride  —  these?  My  color,  it  is  all  fast. 
As  the  green  of  the  leaf ;  —  you  come  from  the  city, 
lad.  Are  you  not  hungry  ?  " 

The  boy  nodded  his  head,  and  looked  into  the  eyes 
of  this  strange  man  who  cared  whether  or  not  boys 
were  hungry.  The  dyer  looked  back  at  him  with  more 


i4      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

than  a  casual  curiosity,  started  to  speak,  then  checked 
himself,  and  beckoning  the  boy  to  follow,  went  through 
a  narrow  passage  that  brought  them  into  a  kitchen 
where  two  women  were  serving  a  steaming  mess  of 
rice  and  curry,  ladling  it  out  in  bowls  from  a  great 
kettle  over  the  fire. 

Many  children  were  toddling  about  the  room,  all 
too  young  to  work,  and  Hsiao  knew  that  two  wives 
must  be  the  dyer's  portion  of  domestic  happiness. 
One  of  the  bowls  came  to  him  and  he  longed  to  share  it 
with  little  Brother  out  there  in  the  road,  but  he  feared 
to  offend  these  good  people  who  had  been  so  generous. 
It  would  never  occur  to  them  to  waste  anything  on  an 
animal.  While  they  were  eating  he  heard  the  dyer 
say  something  that  sounded  strangely  like  white,  and 
the  women  looked  at  him,. 

About  two  in  the  afternoon  the  donkey  was  loaded 
almost  as  heavily  with  colored  yarns  for  the  return 
journey,  and  once  more  Hsiao  waited  until  they  were 
out  of  sight  of  the  dye  works  before  taking  on  his  own 
back  a  portion  of  the  load. 

A  meagre  supper  awaited  them  on  their  return,  but 
the  corner  of  the  shed  afforded  a  soft,  warm  bed  where 
many  burlaps  were  piled,  and  there  they  lay  very  close, 
Hsiao's  arm  thrown  protectingly  over  Brother's  neck. 

Every  fair  day,  and  rainy  days  are  few  there,  the 
two  little  friends  made  the  same  long  journey,  and 
always  the  dyer  and  his  wives  were  kind,  and  there 
was  much  of  interest  to  see  along  their  way,  especially 
inside  the  Tartar  City. 

It  was  all  so  much  finer  than  the  Peking  he  had 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      15 

known,  so  much  cleaner,  and  the  Legation  Quarter 
fairly  stunned  him.  Were  these  the  houses  of  the 
foreign  devils!  Why  speak  with  contempt  of  people 
who  lived  like  this!  But  he  dared  not  even  mention 
the  thought  except  into  the  faithful  ear  of  Brother. 
So  it  was  that  the  lad  returned  home,  when  his  month 
was  ended,  far  wiser,  as  became  one  who  had  travelled 
and  seen  the  world. 

From  that  time  dated  his  all-absorbing  desire  to 
learn.  He  lost  no  opportunity  to  read  whatever  came 
within  his  reach,  and  so  it  was  that  he  heard  of  the 
vast  and  wonderful  Examination  Halls  of  far  off 
Nanking  where  the  scholarly  might  try  by  competitive 
examinations  to  rise  to  the  dignity  of  mandarins. 
That  was  in  his  twelfth  year  when  suddenly  all  his  life 
was  changed. 

Ever  since  his  return  from  that  month  at  the  rug- 
maker's  he  had  overheard  scraps  of  argument  between 
the  Rat,  who  wanted  to  make  more  money  out  of  him, 
and  Ya-tzu,  who  pleaded  that  she  had  need  of  him  at 
home.  But  the  Rat  always  had  his  own  way,  usually 
by  force,  and  when  that  was  not  possible,  by  cunning. 
Twelve  hours'  work  each  day  was  not  enough  return 
for  the  boy's  board.  "  He  must  learn  a  trade  to  sup- 
port me  in  my  old  age,"  the  Rat  declared,  and  that 
day  he  was  apprenticed  to  the  rug-maker  at  five  dol- 
lars a  month,  the  pay  to  begin  after  a  year's  instruc- 
tion in  the  art,  and  free  board  to  offset  the  beginner's 
labor. 

The  factory  was  a  high  wooden  shed  in  the  same 
yard  where  Hsiao  had  spent  his  nights  during  that  ad- 


16      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

venturous  month,  but  he  had  never  been  allowed  so 
much  as  a  peep  within  its  mysterious  doorway. 

The  Rat  had  come  with  him,  as  before,  so  as  to  make 
delivery  in  person  to  the  rug-maker,  and  when  they 
had  turned  the  first  corner  from  home,  the  boy  had 
looked  back  and  seen  Ya-tzu,  leaning  against  the  door- 
jamb  and  trying  to  smile  as  she  waved  him  a  farewell. 

There  was  no  floor  in  the  shed,  and  the  damp  earthy 
smell,  together  with  a  subdued  light  that  resembled 
twilight,  gave  the  impression  of  being  in  a  cellar. 

These  conditions  he  learned  later  were  favorable  for 
the  rugs  in  process  of  manufacture. 

A  row  of  boys  sat  close  together  on  a  bench,  facing 
a  huge  frame  upon  which  was  stretched  the  warp  of  a 
great  rug.  Traced  out  on  this  warp  in  blue  ink  was  the 
design,  and  colors  were  indicated  by  little  marks. 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  nimbly  their  fingers 
tied  in  the  knots  from  balls  of  yarn  of  various  colors 
that  hung  just  behind  them  from  a  rack. 

While  the  two  men  talked  in  a  low  tone  Hsiao  was 
at  liberty  to  watch  the  boys,  not  one  of  whom  turned 
from  his  work  so  much  as  to  glance  at  them.  One 
boy  in  cutting  the  threads  dropped  the  thick  knife,  and 
the  rug-maker  who  saw  everything,  cut  him  across 
the  back  of  the  neck  with  his  rattan  cane.  Without  a 
start  or  a  sound  the  boy  kept  on  with  his  work.  Hsiao 
thought  they  all  looked  pale  and  wished  the  Rat  had 
put  him  out  on  a  farm,  anywhere  but  in  this  quiet, 
gloomy  shed. 

When  the  Rat  was  gone  the  rug-maker  directed 
Hsiao  to  a  bench  by  himself  where  he  proceeded  to 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      17 

teach  him  the  process,  rapping  his  knuckles  with  the 
stick  every  time  the  boy  failed^to  tie  his  knot  at  the 
first  trial. 

"  How  long  does  it  take  you  to  make  a  square 
yard?"  he  asked  one  of  the  boys  that  night  when, 
after  their  scant  allowance  of  supper,  they  had  hud- 
dled in  a  corner  of  the  factory  to  sleep. 

"  A  boy  must  make  one  square  yard  in  thirty  days, 
ninety  threads  to  the  inch,"  the  boy  told  him,  and  it 
seemed  to  him  then  impossible. 

Yet  in  a  very  few  weeks  he  was  doing  the  impossible 
on  the  bench,  crowded  in  with  the  others,  and  under 
his  nimble  fingers  a  beautiful  rug  was  already  taking 
shape. 

When  darkness  came  his  eyes  ached  so  that  he  could 
hardly  keep  them  open,  and  it  was  not  reassuring  to 
learn  that  a  boy  seldom  kept  at  it  more  than  three 
years  because  his  sight  failed. 

In  a  land  where  no  one  plays  after  the  age  of  seven, 
and  there  is  no  day  of  rest,  every  poor  boy  expects 
hard  work.  It  wasn't  that  which  Hsiao  found  un- 
bearable ;  it  was  the  sudden  complete  check  to  his  thirst 
for  knowledge.  He  could  not  endure  the  thought  of 
wearing  himself  out  with  these  tired,  pale  companions. 
The  next  step  was  a  firm  determination  to  end  it. 

An  old  man  now  had  the  job  of  carrying  to  and 
from  the  dye  works.  He  drove  a  big  white  mule  in 
a  two-wheeled  cart  with  wooden  axle  and  a  blue  can- 
vas top,  and  rode  sitting  on  one  of  the  shafts. 

The  only  chance  of  escape  lay  in  slipping  out  in 
the  early  morning  with  the  old  man  and  his  cart. 


i8      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Hsiao  waited  for  a  cloudy  day  so  as  to  elude  the 
watchful  eye  of  his  new  master,  meanwhile  confiding 
to  no  one  any  hint  of  his  plans. 

The  wall  about  the  yard  was  too  high  to  scale,  and 
none  but  the  rug-maker  himself  had  the  key  to  the 
gate.  When  the  day  came  it  was  so  cold  and  foggy 
in  the  yard  that  Hsiao  could  hardly  see  the  white  mule 
being  hitched  to  the  long  shafts.  The  teamster  kept 
up  a  steady  flow  of  conversation  with  himself  about 
the  absence  of  proper  light,  and  the  wooden  axle 
creaked  as  the  load  was  adjusted  to  the  saddle-girth. 
The  boy  crept  along  by  the  wall  close  to  the  gate.  He 
knew  the  rug-maker  would  stand  at  the  left  side  as  the 
cart  went  out,  so  as  to  face  the  teamster  who  rode  on 
the  left  shaft.  As  the  gate  swung  open  he  glided  to 
the  right  side  of  the  cart,  and  there,  hidden  from  sight 
of  either  man,  he  walked  out.  For  a  mile  he  kept  the 
same  position ;  then  as  they  passed  the  end  of  Legation 
Street,  he  left  his  shelter  to  explore  once  more  the 
stately  precincts  of  the  foreign  devils. 

Barefoot,  half-clad,  hungry,  without  even  a  "  cash  " 
to  his  name,  ignorant  of  any  tongue  but  the  Chinese 
of  the  coolies,  he  was  going  to  begin  life  on  his  own 
responsibility. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  front  of  the  British  Legation  a  yellow  pony 
pawed  the  ground,  anxious  to  be  off  in  spite  of  all  the 
luggage  piled  on  top  of  the  carriage,  in  spite  of  the 
footman  standing  at  his  head  and  the  driver  on  the 
box  flourishing  a  long  lash  whip,  in  spite  of  the  three 
gentlemen  excitedly  talking  at  the  carriage  door. 
Plainly  the  yellow  pony  was  not  curious  as  to  their 
conversation,  or  he  would  have  known  that  the  driver 
would  not  cluck  and  snap  his  whip  until  "  that  miser- 
able, dawdling  rascal  showed  up." 

That  is  what  the  English  gentleman  was  saying,  and 
the  young  Chinese  gentleman  looking  up  and  down  the 
street  was  evidently  expecting  to  see  the  miserable 
dawdler  coming  on  the  run.  The  third  man  wore  a 
beautiful  coat  of  silk  brocade,  and,  from  the  red  but- 
ton on  top  of  his  black  silk  cap,  one  knew  that  he  was 
a  mandarin  of  some  importance.  He  held  the  young 
man  by  the  arm  and  said  nothing.  A  pair  of  heavy 
black  goggles  concealed  his  eyes,  and  Hsiao,  watching 
just  across  the  street,  thought  they  made  him  look 
like  an  empty  warehouse. 

Suddenly  the  young  man  spied  him  and  beckoned. 
The  boy  crossed  the  road  with  the  catlike  agility  of 
his  class  when  prompted  by  visions  of  ready  money. 

"Boy,  make  catchee  plenty  work?"  said  the 

19 


20      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Englishman  in  a  poor  attempt  at  Pidgin  English. 
"  He  does  not  understand,"  the  young  Chinaman  ex- 
plained, whereupon  he  proceeded  to  question  him  in  his 
own  tongue: 

"Would  you  like  work?  A  very  good  job  for  an 
honest,  faithful  lad?" 

The  boy  smiled  his  joy  at  the  very  thought,  and 
showed  his  white  teeth,  as  he  answered :  "  Yes,  high- 
ness." 

"  And  would  your  father  let  you  go  far  from  home 
with  his  excellency  here?"  indicating  the  personage 
with  the  goggles. 

"  I  have  no  father,  no  mother,  just  myself,"  the  boy 
answered. 

"  Does  he  look  bright  ?  "  the  mandarin  asked. 

"  Unusually,"  the  other  answered,  "  but  a  ragged 
little  urchin  as  ever  you  saw." 

"  Then  I  must  take  him  and  be  off  or  I'll  never  catch 
the  boat." 

The  mandarin  hurriedly  entered  the  carriage,  the 
young  man  slammed  the  door,  and  the  yellow  pony, 
released  by  the  driver's  signal,  sprang  forward  to 
show  his  contempt  for  the  longest  road. 

"  Follow  close,"  commanded  the  young  man,  and 
Hsiao's  glance  as  he  obeyed  took  in  the  two  gentlemen 
standing  hat  in  hand  while  the  carriage  rolled  away. 

Once  outside  the  city  walls  the  footman  left  the 
horse's  head,  and  rode  standing  on  a  broad  step  be- 
hind the  carriage.  They  were  going  out  over  the 
Tientsin  road,  and  presently  they  came  to  the  familiar 
dye  works.  The  mule  cart  they  had  passed  far  back 


going  slowly  on  its  way,  but  Hsiao  well  knew  the  old 
teamster  would  never  recognize  him.  The  fat  dyer 
was  in  the  door  of  the  works  gazing  down  the  road, 
and  some  of  his  many  children  were  playing  by  the 
roadside,  so  the  boy  kept  his  eyes  on  the  ground  as  he 
ran  by.  There  were  so  many  boys  in  ragged  blue 
cotton  the  dyer  would  probably  never  notice  him. 

Then  came  a  hill  and  the  road  was  stony,  so  the 
tireless  yellow  pony  was  forced  to  walk.  The  man- 
darin stuck  his  head  out  of  the  window,  and  the  foot- 
man, jumping  down,  came  to  the  carriage  door: 

"  The  boy  —  does  he  keep  up  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Excellency,  but  it  is  rough  here." 

"  Let  him  ride  —  I  shall  need  him." 

"  Yes,  Excellency." 

After  that  Hsiao  rode,  and  it  was  well  for  him  that 
he  did  for  their  journey  was  the  ninety  miles  to  Tien- 
tsin, and  few  grown  runners  could  keep  pace  with  the 
yellow  pony. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  they  arrived,  and 
the  boy,  thinking  his  mission  ended  and  wondering 
what  his  pay  would  be,  was  amazed  and  thrilled  to 
find  himself  on  a  great  steamer  bound  south  for  Shang- 
hai. The  journey  was  hardly  begun. 

And  now  he  understood  why  the  mandarin  had  need 
of  him :  he  must  be  eyes  for  a  blind  man.  And  what 
marvels  those  eyes  were  seeing  in  this  their  first  vision 
of  the  great  ocean  and  the  monster  steamboat,  calmly 
riding  the  mightiest  waves! 

Three  days  more  and  they  had  come  to  Shanghai, 
a  foreign-looking  city  where  tall  Sikhs  in  red  turbans 


22      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

were  the  police,  and  everywhere  the  English  foreign 
devils  seemed  to  be  in  power. 

Here  he  was  fitted  out  with  decent  clothes,  and 
from  the  new  master,  whom  he  was  getting  to  know 
as  a  wise  and  gentle  man,  he  now  learned  that  their 
destination  was  Nanking  whither  the  mandarin  was 
travelling  on  a  mission  so  important  that  the  failure  of 
his  secretary  to  appear  on  the  day  of  his  departure 
could  not  deter  him.  Therefore,  it  was  that  he  had 
taken  up  with  a  stray  lad  to  guide  his  steps,  as  poorer 
blind  men  rely  upon  a  dog. 

A  week  later  found  them  embarked  on  a  river 
steamer  for  the  twenty-four  hours'  sail  up  the  Yangtse- 
Kiang,  and  then  they  were  at  Nanking  with  its  narrow 
winding  streets,  its  dense  population,  its  food  shops 
where,  exposed  to  all  the  dust  of  the  street,  rows  of 
ducks,  very  naked  ducks  shiny  with  oil,  hung  beside 
other  rows  of  ducks  that  had  been  roasted  and  re- 
sembled mahogany  well-varnished.  To  Hsiao  there 
was  nothing  strange  about  them,  nothing  strange  about 
the  pervasive  smell  composite  of  grease,  unwashed 
humanity  and  sewage.  It  was  all  Chinese,  that  and 
the  crowded  life,  the  beggars,  poverty,  disease,  and 
with  it  all  a  beauty,  an  antiquity  and  a  vastness  that 
caught  and  satisfied  the  lad's  inborn  love  of  such 
things. 

Already  he  had  come  to  see  that  his  blind  master 
was  no  empty  warehouse,  a  treasure-house  instead, 
from  which  he  was  daily  drawing  stores  of  learning, 
and  the  mandarin's  errand  was  the  conduct  of  the 
triennial  examination  about  which  Hsiao  had  read. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      23 

Great  was  the  boy's  surprise  to  find  the  Examina- 
tion Halls  a  yard  surrounded  by  very  high  stone  walls, 
and  divided  into  little  streets  or  alleys  formed  by  rows 
of  tiny  stone  huts  or  stalls,  open  in  front  and  only 
about  three  feet  deep,  three  feet  wide  and  four  feet 
high.  And  there  were  twenty  thousand  of  these 
stalls ! 

From  the  kind  mandarin  he  learned  that  of  the  great 
host  who  came  from  far  and  near  bringing  each  his 
own  bedding,  light,  food  and  drink  for  the  three  days 
and  three  nights  of  the  examination,  only  one  hundred 
and  eighty  were  chosen  to  become  mandarins. 
Further  he  learned  that  shut  in  as  the  candidates  were, 
in  such  crowded  condition,  it  was  not  unusual  for  one 
or  two  to  die.  The  examinations  were  written,  and 
the  men  were  closely  watched  by  proctors  who  pa- 
trolled each  alley. 

And  when  the  candidates  began  to  gather,  a  few  days 
before  the  examination,  he  discovered  that  the  only 
subjects  required  were  Chinese  classics.  None  cared 
about  the  wonders  his  master  had  explained  to  him  as 
existing  in  other  lands.  Was  there  no  interest,  then, 
in  the  why  and  wherefore  of  the  great  engines  that 
drove  their  steamships?  Didn't  any  one  need  to  know 
the  marvellous  things  his  blind  master  had  told  him 
about  the  stars  and  about  ourselves,  how  our  blood 
keeps  us  alive,  and  oh,  so  many  things  that  are  so  much 
more  wonderful  than  what  other  men  long  ago  hap- 
pened to  write ! 

That  is  how  it  lay  in  Hsiao's  mind  when  he  dis- 
covered that  it  was  what  the  great  mandarin  had 


24      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

learned  outside  of  his  education  that  really  made  him 
a  treasure-house.  And  this  conviction  deepened  when 
he  saw  how  little  the  candidates  knew,  for  he  had  heard 
and  questioned  several  of  them  at  the  hotel  from  day 
to  day,  and  none  was  like  his  mandarin.  None  cared 
for  knowledge,  save  only  knowledge  of  their  own 
literature.  The  wisdom  which  his  mandarin  ex- 
pounded, coming  from  their  sort  of  learning  far  less 
than  from  experience  and  the  ability  to  reason  clearly, 
was  a  thing  unknown  to  them  and  unprized. 

"  Tell  me,  Hsiao,"  the  master  said  one  day,  after 
patiently  answering  the  boy's  questions ;  "  I  find  you 
no  street  boy  as  I  had  supposed;  your  mind  is  active, 
and  as  sight  for  my  sightless  eyes  you  are  to  me  a  gift 
of  the  gods  —  what  is  your  parentage,  for  they  have 
told  me  that  you  are  white  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,  Excellency,"  the  boy  answered,  and 
the  master  little  suspected  the  blush  that  spread  over 
the  boy's  cheek,  testifying  to  his  humiliation. 

"  Surely,  surely  I  am  not  white !  But  I  never  knew 
father  or  mother,  only  The  Rat  and  good,  kind  Ya- 
tzu." 

Encouraged  to  talk,  he  told  of  his  life,  and  how  he 
had  run  away  to  escape  it. 

"  But  why,  if  you  had  never  known  better?  "  asked 
the  master. 

"  Ya-tzu  had  given  me  sometimes  a  book  to  read, 
and  then  I  have  seen  how  differently  others  live,  and 
one  has  always  the  hope — " 

"  Ah  lad,  haven't  you  discovered  yet  that  hope  is 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      25 

not  of  Chinese  origin?  Can  you  not  see  that  it  is 
your  white  blood  that  hopes  ?  " 

"  But,  Excellency,  you  hope,  and  you  make  me 
hope." 

"  I  have  travelled  much,  and  I  have  learned  the  best 
things  outside  of  my  beloved  country.  Antiquity  we 
have,  lad,  and  much  of  beauty  and  of  art.  But  hope 
for  a  nation  lies  not  that  way,  but  along  the  paths  of 
Science.  If  I  could  only  make  my  countrymen  see 
it!" 

After  that  the  master  seemed  to  take  even  greater 
pains  with  Hsiao,  teaching  him  to  use  his  own  mind 
rather  than  stuffing  him  with  facts,  and  gaining  the 
boy's  perfect  confidence.  Little  by  little  the  relation- 
ship between  them  changed  with  the  lad's  awakening. 
Insensibly  the  menial  position  gave  place  to  that  of 
pupil  and  secretary.  Hsiao,  no  longer  a  servant,  be- 
came the  mandarin's  companion,  and  his  progress  in  all 
that  such  a  position  implied  was  amazingly  rapid  dur- 
ing the  succeeding  months  of  their  stay  in  Nanking. 

No  wonder  the  months  flew  by  unheeded  until  they 
had  expanded  into  years.  Business  relating  to  the  Gov- 
ernment kept  the  mandarin  employed  along  the  course 
of  the  Yangtse-Kiang  from  Shanghai  up  as  far  as  Han- 
kow for  three  years,  and  during  all  that  time  Hsiao 
was  with  him  constantly. 

Not  even  the  Rat  or  Ya-tzu  would  have  known  the 
tall  bright  young  fellow  of  fifteen  who  came  back  with 
his  patron  to  Peking  in  the  early  winter  of  1899.  He 
was  scrupulously  Chinese  in  dress,  and  wore  his  hair 


26      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

in  a  short  queue  which  he  was  cultivating  with  zealous 
care. 

Something  had  gone  wrong  with  the  master.  Word 
had  come  from  the  old  Buddha,  meaning  Tzu  Hsi,  the 
Empress  Dowager,  that  her  feelings  were  hurt:  she 
had  heard  with  grave  concern  that  her  special  envoy 
to  Nanking  had  preached  heresy  there  and  at  Hankow, 
urging  Chinese  scholars  to  learn  other  things  besides 
their  classics. 

The  Empress  was  grieved,  and  any  one  who  had 
ever  seen  her  cruel  face  with  its  thin,  straight  mouth, 
knew  what  it  meant  to  offend  that  august  Majesty. 

This  much  the  mandarin  confided  on  the  hasty  home- 
ward journey,  but  Hsiao  said : 

"  Excellency,  Her  Majesty  has  but  to  see  you  to 
understand  that  you  are  all  that  is  good  and  wise." 

The  old  man  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's  sturdy 
shoulder,  and  so  they  sat,  neither  speaking,  until  long 
past  midnight,  while  the  great  ship  sped  them  north- 
ward towards  home  and  an  Empress  Dowager. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  blind  man  and  a  boy  rode  side  by  side  in  a  coupe 
that  entered  from  the  Tartar  City  through  the  third 
wall  into  the  Imperial  City,  home  of  the  mandarins. 

The  guard  at  the  gates  recognized  the  man's  right  to 
enter,  not  through  the  great  central  gate,  for  that  was 
reserved  exclusively  for  their  Majesties  when,  once 
a  year,  they  drove  the  three  miles  along  the  straight 
avenue  to  the  Altar  of  Heaven  to  make  sacrifice  in 
sight  of  all  the  people  and  all  their  gods.  But  through 
one  of  the  side  gates  their  carriage  entered,  drove 
straight  on  till  it  came  to  another  wall  and  other  gates, 
and  there  it  paused. 

The  mandarin  and  Hsiao  alighted,  and  the  carriage 
went  back  to  deliver  at  the  mandarin's  house  his  lug- 
gage, and  the  news  to  his  five  expectant  wives  that  he 
had  been  bidden  to  an  immediate  audience  with  the 
Empress  Dowager. 

On  foot  they  entered  the  Forbidden  City,  crossed 
the  marble-paved  courtyard,  crossed  the  beautiful 
white  marble  bridge,  were  stopped  and  questioned  by 
the  eunuchs  in  attendance  at  the  door  of  the  Palace 
and  finally  stood  before  a  red-lacquered  chair  on  a 
red-lacquered  dais,  and  as  Hsiao  saw  the  mandarin 
prostrate  himself  before  that  awful  throne,  he  knew 
that  Her  August  Majesty,  Queen  of  Heaven,  Ruler 

27 


28      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

of  Emperors,  was  about  to  appear  in  judgment.  From 
his  position  by  the  door,  forty  feet  behind  the  man- 
darin, he  too  bowed  his  face  to  the  floor.  There  was 
a  hushed  sound  of  whispering  from  a  side  door;  the 
throne-room  seemed  very  large  and  cold.  Silence  that 
was  ominous;  and  then  a  rustling  of  two  or  three  who 
entered  stealthily. 

The  boy  raised  his  head  only  enough  to  see  two  men 
with  long,  flashing  swords,  who  took  their  places 
silently  at  each  side  of  the  kneeling  mandarin.  The 
red-lacquered  chair  was  empty.  He  heard  the  swish 
of  a  sword  that  flashed  and  whirled  for  a  second,  then 
struck  with  a  dull,  choking  sound.  Something  fell 
on  the  floor,  but  he  dared  not  look  up  until  he  heard 
the  rustling  again,  heard  it  grow  fainter,  then  disap- 
pear through  the  side  door.  Slowly  he  raised  himself 
on  his  knees.  One  of  the  eunuchs  was  helping  him  to 
walk  from  the  room  —  that  was  all  he  remembered  of 
it  —  and  his  legs  gave  way  under  him.  Before  his 
eyes  was  the  figure  of  his  beloved  master  still  kneeling, 
and  on  the  floor  the  head  that  only  a  moment  before 
had  held  so  much  of  wisdom,  of  loyalty  to  his  country, 
of  kind  thought  for  his  fellow  men. 

This,  then,  was  an  interview  with  the  Empress 
Dowager!  Oh  the  bitterness,  the  cruelty  of  it! 

They  allowed  him  to  go  unchallenged,  back  over  the 
white  marble  bridge,  and  the  marble-paved  courtyard, 
out  through  the  gate  into  the  Imperial  City;  on,  heed- 
less of  everything  except  the  burning  horror  of  his 
loss,  until  he  was  back  once  more  in  the  Tartar  City, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      29 

back  before  the  very  gate  of  the  British  Embassy 
where  nearly  four  years  ago  he  had  met  his  beloved 
Master.  He  could  hardly  see  the  gate  for  the  hot 
tears  blinding  his  eyes. 

An  hour  passed,  and  still  the  boy  remained  watching 
with  smarting  eyes  the  spot  where  life  had  taken  on 
new  meaning.  And  try  as  he  could  to  see  his  patron 
as  he  looked  that  day,  standing  by  the  carriage  door, 
the  only  image  clear  to  his  memory  was  of  a  prostrate 
form  and  a  head  that  rolled  on  the  floor. 

A  fine  carriage  with  two  noble  horses  came  down 
the  avenue,  and  as  they  drew  out  of  the  gate  one  of 
the  'rickshaw  men  passing  called  out  to  Hsiao : 

"  British  Ambassador,  one  of  your  foreign  devils ! 
They  will  squeal  when  we  get  at  'em!" 

Two  men  on  foot  came  out  following  the  carriage. 
Hsiao  recognized  the  young  Englishman  and  the 
young  Chinaman  who  bade  farewell  to  the  mandarin 
that  day,  and  told  him  to  follow  close.  He  must  tell 
them  what  had  happened. 

Neither  of  them  recognized  in  the  youth  who  crossed 
the  street  the  urchin  of  four  years  ago.  But  when  he 
spoke  of  the  mandarin,  and  of  Imperial  justice,  the 
tears  falling  unheeded,  they  listened  attentively,  the 
young  Chinaman  translating  it  to  his  companion. 
Hsiao  had  to  answer  many  questions  about  the  stay  in 
the  south,  and  then  the  Chinaman  asked  him : 

"And  what  of  you  now?  We  need  bright,  honest 
young  men  here  in  the  British  Legation.  Will  you 
come  to  work  for  us  ? " 


30      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

And  Hsiao  who  was  only  too  glad  of  shelter  and 
food  eagerly  took  up  with  a  proposition  to  work  for 
his  board  until  he  could  speak  English. 

Six  months  passed,  and  Hsiao,  living  within  the 
walls  of  the  Legation,  was  learning  much  more  than 
the  English  language.  Thanks  to  the  mandarin's 
teaching,  he  was  very  clever  at  arithmetic,  whether 
computed  on  the  frame  strung  with  beads  known  in 
China  as  the  Abacus,  or  European  fashion  on  paper, 
and  his  mind  was  as  alert  and  tireless  as  his  body. 

A  few  days  after  his  return  to  Peking  he  had  gone 
to  visit  Ya-tzu.  He  had  met  in  the  very  door  of  the 
hut  the  Rat  just  going  to  work,  and  the  Rat  had 
looked  him  in  the  face,  and  gone  on  without  suspecting 
who  he  was. 

Ya-tzu  was  not  in  the  house.  Another  woman, 
much  younger  and  much  coarser,  was  in  her  place,  and 
to  his  inquiry  for  Ya-tzu  she  stood  with  arms  akimbo, 
head  on  one  side,  and  laughed: 

"If  you  want  Ya-tzu,  go  down  by  the  pool  yonder 
where  she  sleeps  in  her  long  box." 

And  there  he  found  the  coffin  with  a  few  others, 
and  that  marked  "  Ya-tzu  "  was  weather-stained,  and 
must  have  stood  there  for  at  least  two  years.  Soon 
they  would  bury  it  under  a  little  mound  of  earth.  No 
altar  was  near  it,  and  no  one  came  to  bring  food  and 
tea  for  the  departed  spirit. 

So  poor  Ya-tzu  was  gone,  and  the  hateful  Rat  lived 
on!  The  gods,  it  seemed  to  Hsiao,  didn't  manage 
these  things  very  well. 

There  came  a  hot  day  in  June ;  the  men  in  the  office 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      31 

were  discussing  the  Boxer  uprising,  a  religious  protest 
against  foreigners,  aided  and  abetted  by  the  Dowager 
Empress  in  her  hatred  and  jealousy  of  Europeans. 
Threats  and  mutter  ings  had  been  rife  for  months,  and 
many  of  the  Boxer  troops  were  quartered  within  the 
Forbidden  City,  a  fact  officially  denied  by  the  court. 
And  the  argument  of  the  men  in  the  office  was:  why 
should  this  be,  when  the  Empress  had  expressly  pub- 
lished her  liking  for  English  and  Americans? 

A  Chinese  runner  came  in,  breathless  and  excited: 
"  I  saw  a  sergeant  of  the  Imperial  Guard,"  he  panted, 
"  stop  the  sedan  chair  of  the  German  ambassador  and 
fire  point-blank  at  him.  The  bearers  ran  —  a  crowd 
gathered, —  they  swear  death  to  all  foreigners.  They 
will  burn  and  kill  —  all !" 

Hsiao,  listening,  thought  how  strange  it  was  that  he 
no  longer  could  side  with  those  who  vowed  death  to  the 
foreigners  —  no  longer  foreign  devils. 

In  the  weeks  that  followed,  the  Boxers,  emboldened 
by  the  old  Buddha's  support,  committed  many  out- 
rages. The  lives  of  Europeans  were  not  safe,  and  so 
gradually  assembled  within  the  strong  high  walls  of 
the  British  Embassy  all  British  and  Americans  includ- 
ing the  American  ambassador  and  all  his  force. 

From  the  Forbidden  City,  separated  only  by  an 
open  space  of  three  hundred  yards  and  the  moat  sur- 
rounding its  wall,  it  was  easy  even  for  the  antiquated 
Chinese  cannon  to  fire  shots  against  the  walls  of  the 
Legation.  What  few  troops  were  attached  to  the 
British  and  "American  Embassies  stood  under  arms 
ready  to  repel  any  direct  assault,  and  Hsiao  without 


32      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

a  pang  saw  these  foreigners  returning,  as  best  they 
could,  shot  for  shot.  He  knew  well  enough  that  all 
their  lives  were  in  grave  peril.  He  knew  that  the 
Imperial  forces  were  already  joining  with  the  Boxers 
to  kill  all  foreigners  and  henceforth  exclude  them 
forever  from  China. 

And  yet  to  his  own  danger  he  never  gave  a  thought. 
His  life  had  been  held  of  little  account  until  the  man- 
darin had  changed  everything,  and  now  his  one 
thought,  dwarfing  all  else,  was  that  his  good,  kind, 
noble  friend  and  teacher  was  gone. 

No,  let  them  fire  back  into  the  Dowager  Empress's 
palace  itself.  Let  them  kill  her,  cruel,  unjust  as  she 
was  —  he  would  never  lift  a  finger  to  prevent  it. 

There  was  a  shortage  of  food  for  so  many  as  were 
quartered  in  the  Embassy,  and  daily  he  heard  discus- 
sion of  the  danger  that  the  Chinese  soldiers  would 
rush  the  walls.  There  were  weeks  of  anxiety  and 
terror;  the  guns  from  the  Forbidden  City  had  bat- 
tered a  great  gap  in  the  wall  and  soldiers  worked 
frantically  to  repair  it. 

Then  "  Tientsin  "  was  whispered  from  one  to  an- 
other, and  the  boy  learned  that  an  army  of  foreign 
allies  had  landed  at  Tientsin  and  were  already  march- 
ing on  Peking.  Meantime  the  Chinese  soldiers  were 
preparing  to  annihilate  "  these  contemptible  invaders," 
as  the  old  Empress  and  her  counsellors  told  them  they 
could  easily  do.  When  they  came,  however,  the 
Chinese  ran  like  rabbits  for  their  holes,  and  in  a  very 
few  days  the  allied  army  was  encamped,  some  in  the 
gardens  about  the  Temple  of  Heaven,  some  in  the 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      33 

enclosure  of  the  White  Marble  Pagoda,  others  in  parks 
all  about  the  outer  city.  The  Dowager  Empress  had 
fled  to  the  north  with  the  young  Emperor  in  a  mule 
cart,  and  both  were  disguised  as  peasants. 

Hsiao,  privileged  now  as  a  clerk  in  the  British  Em- 
bassy, went  on  various  errands  to  the  officers  of  the 
different  forces.  He  saw  how  the  Japanese  were 
wantonly  mutilating  the  beautiful  marble  Pagoda 
carved  with  such  skill  and  care  centuries  ago.  One 
day  on  a  visit  to  the  German  headquarters  he  saw  them 
carrying  off  to  ship  to  Berlin  some  of  the  beautiful 
bronze  apparatus  from  the  Astronomical  Observatory 
on  the  city  wall  —  useless  for  scientific  purposes  but 
very  dear  to  the  people  because  of  the  five  centuries 
it  had  stood  there  in  a  conspicuous  angle.  And  Hsiao, 
whose  only  moral  training  had  been  Ya-tzu's  lessons 
in  honesty,  shocked  at  such  immorality  by  those  in 
authority,  contrasted  their  conduct  with  that  of  the 
English  and  Americans,  and  learned  that  there  were 
differences  in  foreigners. 


CHAPTER  V 

Lazily  floating  out  over  the  tops  of  low  pines  near 
the  Altar  of  Heaven,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  marked 
where  the  Americans  were  encamped.  In  a  tent  open 
on  all  sides  to  encourage  any  draft  of  air,  an  officer 
sat  at  a  little  table. 

To  judge  by  the  clutter  of  papers  before  him  there 
was  work  to  be  done,  but  the  officer's  eyes  were  not 
on  his  work ;  his  thoughts  had  gone  back  nearly  seven- 
teen years  to  the  time  when,  still  a  student  at  West 
Point,  he  had  come  here  to  Peking  with  his  father  and 
mother. 

Never  since  then  could  he  think  of  Peking  without 
a  pang.  As  he  sat  there  in  his  tent,  he  could  see  once 
more  the  fair-haired  English  girl,  his  little  sister's 
governess.  The  very  sound  of  her  voice  came  back 
distinctly.  She  was  of  good  family  and  showed  her 
breeding,  but  it  wasn't  this  that  made  him  fall  in  love 
with  her.  They  were  both  very  young  —  yes,  and 
very  ignorant;  that  was  the  only  excuse  for  them. 
He  recalled  with  a  shudder  some  of  the  notes  he  had 
slipped  into  her  hand;  with  an  indulgent  smile  he 
thought  of  stolen  interviews.  Then  he  buried  his  face 
in  his  hands  at  the  horrid  climax  of  it  all.  Thank 
God,  he  had  never  suspected  her  reason  for  leaving 
his  mother's  employ,  just  before  they  started  for  home. 

34 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      35 

Why  should  she  prefer  a  Missionary  School  to  him! 
Fickle  he  had  called  her  at  their  last  hurried  meeting, 
and  her  only  reproach  he  had  seen  in  her  eyes.  Even 
then  he  had  not  suspected. 

And  then,  many  months  later,  when  he  was  back  at 
West  Point,  a  letter,  very  brief,  had  come. 

"  Our  little  boy,"  it  told  him,  "  has  been  given  to  a 
kind  and  gentle  amah  (nurse)  who  was  connected 
with  the  hospital,  to  bring  up.  You  couldn't  expect 
missionaries  to  keep  me  after  discovering  my  condi- 
tion, so  the  day  I  was  able  to  leave  the  hospital  I  had 
to  find  work  or  we  should  have  been  objects  of  charity. 
I  am  going  back  to  London  with  a  charming  family, 
and  as  soon  as  I  can  save  up  enough  I  shall  go  back  for 
my  baby." 

It  was  postmarked  Hong  Kong.  Fear,  Prudence 
and  Honor  fought  a  terrible  combat  in  full  sight  of  the 
young  father's  soul  when  he  had  read  it. 

In  the  end  he  had  sent  her  a  thousand  dollars,  most 
of  it  borrowed,  to  the  address  she  gave  him  in  London, 
but  after  writing  half  a  dozen  letters  and  tearing  them 
up,  the  poor  little  note  accompanying  his  draft  was 
painfully  formal  and  cold.  No  answer  to  it  had  ever 
reached  him,  and  oh,  how  many  times  had  he  re- 
proached himself!  Why  should  he  have  blamed  her! 
Had  Fear,  after  all,  won  the  fight? 

How  it  all  hung  over  his  head  to-day  as  though  it 
had  happened  yesterday! 

And  then,  little  by  little,  it  had  faded,  blotted  out 
by  the  excitement  of  life  to  a  boy  of  twenty-one. 
Many  times  he  had  thought  of  her,  thought  of  that 


36      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

mysterious  child, —  growing  up  a  Chinaman,  or  long 
since  taken  home  by  his  mother? 

When  the  child  was  three  years  old  he  had  written 
to  the  London  family  for  news  of  their  governess,  and 
then  had  come  the  reply  that  she  had  died  in  a  hospital 
following  an  operation;  that  she  had  never  recovered 
from  some  sickness  which  had  befallen  her  in  China, 
and  that  her  own  family  had  been  with  her  at  the  last. 

That  was  all  —  and  now,  after  all  these  years,  duty 
had  brought  him  back  to  Peking.  No  wonder  that, 
as  he  sat  there  in  his  tent,  his  thoughts  were  not  with 
his  wife  and  children  at  home  in  America,  but  with 
that  baby  left  all  these  years  to  make  his  own  way  in 
the  world  while  his  father  lived  in  the  luxury  of  in- 
herited wealth  and  an  assured  position  in  the  army. 
His  only  clue  was  the  information  in  that  first  letter 
that  the  amah  was  in  some  capacity  employed  by  the 
hospital.  Peking  did  not  abound  in  hospitals;  it 
would  be  a  simple  matter  to  find  the  record  of  her 
case.  Hot  as  it  was,  he  put  on  his  cork  helmet  and 
called  a  chair.  After  sixteen  years  there  was  no  time 
to  be  lost. 

A  tall  slender  boy  passed  him  at  the  camp  barrier. 
The  boy  had  a  message  from  the  American  ambassador 
to  the  Colonel.  Major  Hugh  Thornton,  riding  out  in 
his  chair,  noting  the  boy's  straight,  regular  features 
and  clear  bronzed  skin,  said  to  himself :  "  Handsome 
boy  that.  Too  handsome  for  a  Chinaman." 

Meantime  a  little  group  of  officers  were  enjoying 
themselves,  chaffing  the  boy  over  his  very  limited 
knowledge  of  English. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      37 

"  What  is  your  name?  "  one  asked  him. 

"  Hsiao  only  name,"  he  answered.  Thus  much  he 
understood. 

"  C.  Howe!"  rejoined  the  officer,  imitating  the 
boy's  pronunciation  as  well  as  he  could. 

"  Well,  what  does  C.  stand  for?  " 

Hsiao  shook  his  head ;  he  didn't  understand. 

"  What  name  C?  "  persisted  the  officer. 

Hsiao  thought  a  minute.  Then  C.  suggested  the 
name  of  the  American  Ambassador. 

"  Conger,"  he  said. 

"  Ah,  now  we  have  it,  Conger  Howe.  Well,  that's 
some  name  for  a  young  Chinaman  to  carry." 
Whether  it  was  or  not,  it  was  the  name  that  Hsiao 
carried  ever  after,  for  he  became  a  great  favorite  with 
officers  and  men,  thrown  with  them  constantly  and 
trusted  with  many  an  important  mission  between  the 
embassies  and  the  troops,  and  Conger  Howe  he  was 
to  all  of  them. 

On  one  of  these  errands  he  encountered  Major  Hugh 
Thornton,  a  typical  soldier,  in  the  service  because  he 
loved  it.  The  major  had  found  at  the  hospital  that 
the  amah's  name  was  Ya-tzu,  and  where  she  had 
lived,  and  even  found  her  coffin  in  the  field,  but  the 
clue  had  led  no  further. 

Face  to  face  with  the  boy  whose  beauty  had  struck 
him  before,  he  felt  shy  about  questioning  his  ante- 
cedents, but  something  deeper  than  curiosity  impelled 
him  and  he  was  determined  to  know. 

How  simple  it  all  seemed  afterward;  the  boy's  spirit 
rebelling  against  slavery  in  the  rug  factory ;  his  bright, 


38      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

handsome  face  winning  him  the  golden  opportunity  to 
go  south  with  the  mandarin. 

And  as  the  boy's  father  thought  it  out,  how  natural 
that  the  mandarin,  a  gentleman  and  a  scholar,  should 
have  recognized  the  fine  spirit  and  quality  in  the  boy! 
But  what  good  fortune  that  his  son  had  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  so  noble  a  man ! 

Was  it  the  four  years  with  the  mandarin  that  had 
made  this  boy  a  gentleman  —  or  was  it  good  blood 
showing  itself?  This  the  father  pondered  looking 
into  his  son's  eyes.  Dark  as  he  was,  he  was  strikingly 
like  his  mother. 

Day  by  day  the  friendship  between  them  grew  to 
intimacy,  but  Major  Thornton,  no  longer  an  impetuous 
youth,  had  not  revealed  himself  as  the  boy's  father, 
reasoning  that  the  complications  to  follow  would  be  of 
no  help  to  any  one.  A  way  must  be  found  without  be- 
traying his  secret  even  to  his  own  son. 

Through  the  autumn  and  winter  some  of  the  troops 
remained,  and  Major  Thornton  with  them ;  meanwhile 
he  had  elaborated  a  scheme  that  seemed  reasonable. 

One  day  the  colonel  sent  for  Conger  Howe,  who 
now  spoke  English  fairly  well,  and  asked  him : 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  who  were  your  father  and 
mother?" 

"  Yes,  Colonel,  very  much  I  have  wished  to  know 
since  a  small  child." 

"  You  know  that  you  are  not  Chinese?  " 

"  Sometimes  they  'have  said  so ;  and  then  I  felt 
ashamed.  To-day,  knowing  so  many,  I  do  not  feel 
disgrace." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      39 

"  Thank  you,"  the  colonel  said,  and  the  boy  bowed 
his  head  in  acknowledgment.  Irony  was  too  indirect, 
and  the  new  language  had  so  many  strange  idioms. 

"  Your  father  was  an  American  and  a  gentleman," 
the  Colonel  continued,  "  and  your  mother  an  English 
lady  who  died  when  you  were  a  baby.  China  is  not 
even  now  a  comfortable  place  for  foreigners.  It  was 
less  so  then,  and  the  young  couple  got  separated,  leav- 
ing their  baby  in  charge  of  a  woman  who  had  been 
highly  recommended.  Probably  the  father  also  died. 
At  any  rate  nothing  was  heard  of  him.  And  now 
Major  Thornton,  who  knows  your  story  and  is  very 
fond  of  you,  wants  to  adopt  you  as  his  son,  take  you 
to  America  and  give  you  every  advantage.  He  has 
a  lovely  wife  and  two  little  daughters,  and  I  know 
you  would  be  very  happy  with  them." 

"  Adopt?  "  the  boy  repeated.  "  I  do  not  yet  know 
this." 

But  when  the  Colonel  had  explained  it  he  exclaimed 
delightedly : 

"  Ah !     It  is  then  so  much  like  my  dear  mandarin !  " 

Hsiao  had  by  this  time  quite  lost  his  Chinese  name, 
and  Major  Thornton  readily  adopted  that  which  chance 
had  brought  to  take  its  place.  Conger  Howe  was  a 
good  name,  and  it  had  also  a  reason  for  being.  The 
boy  had  come  to  live  with  his  father  and  they  talked 
daily  about  America  which  to  Conger  was  a  painfully 
new  country. 

"  Even  our  Emperor  Chun  had  been  in  his  great 
tomb  in  Nanking  a  hundred  years  when  your  land  was 
discovered.  And  Chun  was  only  Ming  Dynasty." 


40      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

The  boy  shook  his  head  so  patronizingly  over  this  ut- 
terance that  the  major,  laughing,  answered: 

"  But  think  how  much  fresher  it  makes  everything 
in  a  new  country.  Here  the  land,  the  very  stones  have 
been  used  for  thousands  of  years  by  millions  upon  mil- 
lions of  beings.  With  us  all  is  new  —  it  even  smells 
fresh." 

The  boy  was  still  incredulous. 

"  But  the  traditions,"  he  insisted,  "  the  history,  the 
art,  the  literature,  all  these  you  must  lack,  and  your 
religion  —  one  little  Hebrew  god !  Even  your  Rabbi 
Jesu  spoke  to  no  such  following  as  our  Confucius;  and 
what  is  a  peasant  like  him  compared  with  that  Prince 
of  India,  Buddha?" 

"  Our  Christian  religion,"  Major  Thornton  ex- 
plained, "  has  shown  its  greatness  by  the  quality  of  its 
following  for  two  thousand  years.  It  teaches  — " 

Unfortunately  the  brave  major  hesitated  here  be- 
cause his  education  had  been  chiefly  in  things  pertain- 
ing to  war,  and  the  boy  caught  him  up: 

"  My  mandarin  has  explained  what  it  teaches ;  one 
thing  in  one  land,  another  in  another.  To  us  it  brings 
a  different  story  from  that  which  it  told  in  Syria,  a 
religion  trimmed  to  suit  the  buyer's  taste,  so  the  man- 
darin called  it.  But  ours  —  have  we  not  sacrificed 
to  our  ancestors  and  to  the  same  gods  these  many  cen- 
turies before  that  Jesu  was  born?  " 

"  See  here,  Conger,"  the  major  interrupted,  "  let's 
drop  this  religious  talk.  We  don't  either  of  us  know 
anything  about  it." 


CHAPTER  VI 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  the  commander,  sonny.  P'raps 
now,  you're  the  commander,  yourself." 

The  boy  looked  up  from  the  wonderful  fort  that 
he  was  building  on  the  shore  and  saw  standing  before 
him  a  tall  man  in  sou'wester  and  oilers.  That  is,  he 
looked  up  just  long  enough  to  see  the  tall  man  who 
stood  with  his  hands  clasped  behind  him,  critically  sur- 
veying the  fort  as  though  it  were  to  remain  for  ages 
a  national  bulwark,  instead  of  disintegrating  with  the 
very  next  tide.  And  he  saw  the  sou'wester  and  oilers, 
and  knew  that  the  big  man  was  a  fisherman. 

The  fort  was  at  that  momentous  stage  in  its  con- 
struction when  you  are  just  punching  the  holes  through 
the  wet  sand  so  that  you  can  mount  the  big  guns,  and 
poke  them  out,  like  real  forts.  But  the  enormous 
boots  were  right  there,  facing  you,  evidently  expecting 
an  answer  to  the  inquiry  about  the  commander;  so  the 
boy  on  his  knees  glanced  up  again  at  the  face  that  was 
almost  hidden  by  bushy  whiskers. 

He  seemed  a  very  serious  boy,  and  spoke  deliber- 
ately :  "  The  commander  isn't  here  yet,  I  am  the  chief 
engineer.  The  commander  doesn't  come  till  every- 
thing is  ready  for  fighting,  in  case  of  an  attack." 

"  Oh !  I  see  —  well,  now  it's  my  mistake,  but  I 
thought  some  one  with  a  funny  name  would  be  in  com- 
mand o'  this  here  fortification." 

41 


42      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Why,  you  see,"  (the  voice  was  only  an  eight-year- 
old  voice,  and  it  had  in  it  the  same  ingenuous  wonder 
and  honesty  as  the  wide  blue  eyes  that  looked  up  from 
the  fort)  "  you  must  have  thought  it  was  Horatio. 
He  has  a  funny  name,  and  my  father  used  to  call  him 
'  Sneeze,'  but  Horatio  isn't  down  here." 

"Oh!  he  ain't.  Well,  then  it  wouldn't  likely  be 
him.  But  your  own  name  ain't  quite  so  common  as 
Charley  —  leastways,  not  around  here  —  I  heard  it 
not  more'n  ten  minutes  ago,  and  I  says  to  myself  I 
can  seem  to  see  that  name  carved  on  a  tombstone;  but 
hanged  if  I  ain't  gone  and  forgot  it,  so  quick." 

"  Where  was  the  tombstone  ?  "  the  boy  asked,  in  the 
same  earnest  manner  as  before. 

"  Why  there  wa'n't  any  real  tombstone ;  only  some 
names  you  can  kinder  see  printed  like.  Now  there's 
'  Jessop  ' —  I  can't  imagine  that  name  anywheres  but 
on  a  stick  o'  chewing  candy.  And  Puffer  has  to  be 
on  a  soda  fountain, —  seems  made  on  purpose  to  go 
there,  and  Crosse  just  fits  on  a  bottle  o'  pickles." 

"  But  my  name  isn't  like  any  of  those." 

"Ain't  it?  Well,  it  sounded  awful  solemn  to  me. 
What  is  it,  again?  I  disremember." 

"  It  is  Galton  Gragg." 

"  You  must  be  Cap'n  Gragg's  boy  —  Galton  Gragg! 
It  ain't  a  cheerful  name,  any  way  you  can  say  it. 
Galton  Gragg;  no,  you  can't  make  it  anything  but 
gloomy.  Well,  Mr.  Galton  Gragg,  I'm  bound  off  for 
the  weirs.  Would  you  like  to  come  along,  and  see  how 
we  catch  fish  by  the  cartload  ?  " 


"  I  should  like  very  much  to  go,  but  I  haven't  any 
clothes  like  yours  to  go  in." 

"  And  you  don't  need  any,  if  'what  you  have  on  can 
be  washed." 

The  huge  ox,  swaying  slowly,  drew  the  ponderous 
two-wheeled  cart  down  over  the  slope  of  the  beach. 
Two  great  wooden  pins  fastened  his  yoke  to  the  ends 
of  the  heavy  shafts,  and  a  cod-line,  caught  over  the 
tip  of  one  horn,  served  in  place  of  reins.  His  eyes 
were  very  gentle  for  a  beast  of  such  gigantic  girth,  such 
mighty  shoulders,  such  broad  stretch  of  horns;  and 
when  the  fisherman  cried,  "  Haw !  "  he  veered  to  the 
left,  and  then  headed  straight  out,  across  the  wide  sand 
flats,  for  the  weir  that  lay  a  mile  and  a  half  off  shore. 

In  the  cart  rode  the  big  fisherman,  and  little  Galton 
Gragg  sat  on  the  seat  beside  him ;  and  the  fresh  breeze 
blew  his  wavy  yellow  hair  back  from  the  eyes  that 
opened  wide  in  wonder  at  thus  setting  out  to  sea  in  a 
great  cart  drawn  by  a  giant  plodding  ox. 

He  wondered  what  the  fisherman's  name  was.  He 
had  heard  him  called  Cap'n  Thoph,  in  the  village  store 
where  every  one  went  to  get  the  mail,  but  he  had  a 
contempt  for  people  who  lisped,  and  he  knew  that  he 
could  do  better  than  Thoph,  though  at  best  it  was  evi- 
dently only  a  nickname.  It  wouldn't  be  polite  to  ask 
him  what  his  real  name  was,  but  he  might  find  out  by 
stratagem. 

"  Does  the  tide  ever  turn  so  quick  it  catches  you  out 
here,  Captain  Soft?" 

"Cap'n  What?"  and  the  big  gruff  voice  went  up 


44      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

an  octave  in  its  attempt  to   imitate  the  boy's  tone. 

"  It  probably  isn't  your  really  truly  name,  but  don't 
they  call  you  Captain  Soft?" 

"  No,  no,  boy,  '  Cap'n  Thoph.'  That's  short  for 
Theophilus;  Theophilus  Snow's  my  name.  Gwan, 
Sunday!" 

"  Why  did  you  name  the  ox  Sunday?  " 

"  Because  he's  so  damn  slow." 

"  But  my  mother  says  Sunday  is  the  best  day  in  the 
week." 

"  Well,  and  this  is  the  best  ox  in  the  county. 
Geddap!  He's  slow,  sure  enough,  but  he  brings  'em 
in.  No  matter  how  many's  in  the  weir,  you  don't  have 
to  lose  none  of  'em.  Sunday  fetches  'em  in." 

The  boy  was  silent,  trying  to  figure  out  whether 
the  simile  of  bringing  them  in  went  with  the  name  also, 
and  Cap'n  Thoph  didn't  answer  as  to  whether  the  tide 
ever  caught  him  out  on  the  flats. 

Great  flocks  of  gulls  soared  gracefully  on  their 
sickle-shaped  wings,  and  then  came  settling  down  in  a 
vast  company,  hundreds  of  them,  waiting  for  the  tide 
to  bring  them  their  supper. 

For  miles  and  miles  to  the  east  and  west  the  wet  gray 
sands  lay  flat  as  a  table,  save  for  the  little  ridges  only 
a  few  inches  apart  that  ran  parallel  with  the  shore. 
Pools  and  shallow  channels  here  and  there  gave  back 
the  blue  and  white  of  the  sky,  and  the  eel  grass  lay  in 
soft,  dark  green  patches,  cool  and  inviting,  also  mys- 
terious and  alluring  after  you  had  learned  that  such 
shaded  places  often  hid  the  lobster  and  the  eel. 

As  they  neared  the  weir,  the  low  thunder  of  the  tide 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      45 

on  the  bar  grew  louder  and  more  distinct,  the  wind 
freshened  and,  look  where  you  would,  there  was  the 
same  vast  plain  of  water  and  sand  that  stretched  away 
level  from  your  very  feet  till  it  touched  the  horizon. 
Only,  far  off  behind  you,  might  be  seen  the  sand  cliffs 
on  the  shore,  and  a  few  white  dots  that  must  be  houses, 
and  one  that  stuck  up  in  a  sharp  white  point  against 
the  background  of  dark  green,  and  this  was  surely  the 
church.  All  these  were  dwarfed  by  distance  till  they 
seemed  like  toys.  Everywhere  else  the  sand  and  the 
sea  reaching  to  infinity. 

The  fish-nets  that  made  a  wall  about  the  pound  were 
higher  than  the  captain's  head,  and  the  water  inside 
the  weir  was  about  waist  deep.  In  the  nets  were  her- 
ring and  mackerel  left  over  from  the  last  tide  where 
they  had  tried  to  squeeze  through  only  to  die  there ;  and 
now  the  gulls  were  flying  about  screaming  and  fighting 
to  get  them.  They  even  pounced  upon  the  live  fish 
that  crowded  so  thick  along  the  sides  of  their  prison, 
yet  hadn't  sense  enough  to  get  out  where  they  came  in. 

"  Boy,"  said  the  big  fisherman,  as  they  came  to  a 
stop  just  where  they  could  see  how  many  fish  were 
caught  — "  I  call  you  boy  because  Gralton  Gag  is  such 
a  hard  name  to  remember  —  do  you  know  what's  the 
matter  with  them  birds  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know  for  certain  sure,  but  I  think 
they  need  oiling." 

For  a  moment  the  man  stood  listening  to  the  cry  of 
the  gulls,  half  way  between  a  creak  and  a  croak,  then 
he  smothered  a  laugh  in  his  beard  with  one  great  hand, 
and  said  very  seriously : 


46      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  didn't  mean  what's  the  matter  with  their  voices, 
I  meant  that  their  trouble  is  that  they're  hungry.  Ani- 
mals are  all  like  that :  hunger  keeps  'em  right  on  edge. 
Give  'em  all  they  want  to  eat  and  you  spoil  'em.  Well, 
it  ain't  very  different  with  men.  Hunger  troubles  'em 
so  't  they're  always  worrying  about  it,  but  for  this 
kind  o'  work  give  me  a  gaunt  hungry  man  every  time." 

"  Are  you  hungry,  yourself  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  hungry  as  a  bear,  and  I  ain't  got  an  ounce 
of  flesh  on  me." 

Galton  was  secretly  glad  that  the  captain's  clothes 
were  so  thick  you  couldn't  verify  this  statement,  for 
the  picture  of  such  a  big  man  being  only  a  bony  frame- 
work was  not  pleasant.  It  suggested  a  clothes-horse 
and  those  things  in  the  natural  history  rooms  that  show 
only  too  plainly  that  they  haven't  an  ounce  of  flesh 
either,  just  like  bird  cages. 

The  ox  stood  in  water  above  his  knees,  when  the 
cart  was  backed  up  against  the  mouth  of  the  weir, 
and  Captain  Thoph,  waist  deep,  began  loading,  picking 
up  the  fish  on  a  huge  pitchfork  and  tossing  them  over 
the  tailboard. 

The  little  boy  enjoyed  watching  them  flopping  and 
thrashing  about,  but  it  was  not  long  before  the  turn  of 
the  tide  brought  such  a  depth  of  water  that  he  fell 
back  about  fifty  yards  out  of  the  channel,  and  so  on 
ground  two  or  three  feet  higher. 

When  the  captain  spied  a  dogfish  among  his  trea- 
sures he  pursued  him  relentlessly  until  he  succeeded  in 
spearing  him,  whereupon  the  dogfish,  accompanied  by 
a  choice  string  of  oaths,  went  sailing  over  the  net,  and 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      47 

landed,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  on  the  sand  outside. 

As  the  fish  became  scarcer  in  the  weir,  and  had  more 
room  to  swim,  the  process  of  working  was  harder. 
Fewer  fish  came  over  the  tailboard;  more  oaths  came 
through  the  net.  Gradually,  little  by  little,  the  water 
was  growing  deeper.  Not  until  it  was  waist  deep  did 
Galton  deign  to  pay  any  attention  to  it.  Then  he 
looked  about  for  higher  ground,  but  there  was  none. 
The  long  leader  or  fence  of  netting,  stretched  between 
high  poles,  led  away  for  a  long  distance  towards  the 
shore.  Standing  by  this  he  felt  that  if  the  water  got 
too  deep  he  could  cling  to  one  of  the  poles. 

The  great  ox  now  held  his  head  high  to  keep  above 
the  tide  which  had  risen  almost  to  his  back.  The  boy 
could  see  that  before  it  got  above  his  depth  the  ox  and 
cart  would  be  afloat,  so  he  clung  to  the  leader  when 
he  could  no  longer  keep  his  feet  and  said  not  a  word. 
It  was  evident  from  the  conversation  that  Cap'n  Thoph 
was  holding  with  the  Almighty  that  he  was  having  all 
he  could  do  to  get  his  fish  out. 

Another  ten  minutes  went  by,  and  the  body  of  the 
cart  was  now  level  full  of  fish  as  the  big  man,  heavy 
in  his  oilers  and  mighty  rubber  boots,  started  to  climb 
aboard. 

"  Good  God,  if  I  don't  deserve  hangin' !  "  he  roared. 
"  Why,  I  clean  forgot  ye,  boy !  " 

There  was  Galton  resolutely,  silently,  clinging  to  the 
leader,  the  water  all  about  him  quite  deep  enough  to 
drown  him;  but  who  would  actually  drown  with  the 
big  fisherman  within  hail? 

Captain  Theophilus  Snow  hastened  as  fast  as  his 


48      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

clothes  would  allow  to  the  boy's  rescue,  and  soon  had 
him  perched  above  the  fish,  and  so  they  headed  f.or  the 
shore  again,  and  the  tide  slowly  rising  followed  them 
in,  for,  when  the  tide  was  high,  eight  to  ten  feet  of 
water  rolled  above  these  placid  flats,  and  no  one  seeing 
the  bay  then  would  ever  dream  of  weirs  or  an  ox  cart 
a  mile  and  a  half  off  shore. 

The  small  boy  made  no  mention  of  his  perilous  ad- 
venture, but  asked  innumerable  questions  about  every- 
thing he  saw : 

"  Do  the  flat  fish  swim  on  the  edge,  like  this,"  he 
asked,  holding  one  of  them  up,  "  or  like  little  rafts?  " 

"  'Tain't  really  either  way,"  replied  the  captain, 
"  'cause  rafts  float  right  on  top  o'  the  water,  and  they 
float  right  down  at  the  bottom  of  it,  but  the  position 
is  the  same." 

"  But  how  do  they  stay  down  ?  Things  that  float 
are  up  on  top." 

"  Not  everything  that  floats,  boy.  You  see  these 
fish  have  been  in  the  water  so  long  they  get  heavy,  what 
you  call  waterlogged,  and  then  they  float  just  off  the 
bottom." 

This  was  a  poser.  Galton  knew  it  was  not  polite  to 
doubt  his  elders,  but  why  shouldn't  all  fish  get  water- 
logged if  flat  fish  did?  There  must  be  another  answer 
better  than  that. 


CHAPTER  VII 

On  the  beach  the  fisherman  stopped  to  let  Galton 
jump  out,  and  as  the  can  started  slowly  on  over  the 
fields  to  the  ice-house,  the  big  man  waved  his  hand  in 
parting  and  said: 

"  You're  a  devilish  spunky  lad  for  your  size.  Some 
day  when  the  tide  favors  earlier  you  must  go  out  again ; 
and  then  I'll  take  you  to  see  us  pack  'em  in  the  berrels 
to  ship  away." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  ship  away '  ?  "  the  boy 
called  back,  for  an  ox  cart  doesn't  soon  get  out  of  hail- 
ing distance. 

"  Take  'em  to  the  railroad  and  send  'em  to  market," 
came  the  answer,  and  Galton  Gragg  set  off  up  the 
grassy  road  to  the  village,  for  it  was  long  after  six, 
and  mother  might  be  worrying. 

Supper  was  waiting,  and  mother  was  watching  for 
him  at  the  kitchen  window.  The  table  was  set  for  two 
—  that  was  the  whole  family  when  father  was  "  off 
to  sea,"  and,  after  he  had  had  a  very  hasty  wash  at 
the  sink,  they  sat  down.  If  mother  noticed  the  wet 
clothes  she  said  nothing  about  it.  But  she  listened 
with  evident  interest  and  amusement  to  her  son's  de- 
scription of  "  the  men  with  spears  that  had  three  sharp 
fingers  on  'em,  '  jobbing '  for  eels  in  the  little  pools 
where  the  grass  grew." 

49 


50      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Do  you  love  the  sea,  Gallon?  "  she  asked.  "  Shall 
you  follow  it,  like  your  father  and  your  grandfather 
before  you?  " 

"  Father  said  this  was  his  last  trip  in  a  windjammer," 
the  boy  answered,  "  but  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  make 
any  except  as  a  passenger." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  go  through  life  as  a  passenger, 
dear?" 

"  Oh,  no,  I'm  going  to  work  to  be  a  —  a  something 
or  other  in  a  big  city  like  Boston.  I'm  not  going  to 
live  always  on  Cape  Cod." 

"  I  see,"  his  mother  said  indulgently,  but  in  her 
heart  very  glad  that  her  only  child  hadn't  his  father's 
passion  for  the  sea.  And  long  after  the  little  fellow 
had  gone  to  bed  she  sat  at  her  window,  gazing  across 
the  rolling  fields  and  the  little  pond  that  lay  like 
polished  silver  in  the  moonlight.  Gently  came  the 
rhythmic  beat  of  the  waves  breaking  on  the  beach;  a 
straggling  line  of  bathhouses  stood  out  darkly  along 
the  shore,  and  somewhere  far  away  on  that  wide 
and  treacherous  expanse  of  sea  her  husband  was 
tossing  about  and  trusting  the  winds  to  bring  him 
home. 

It  was  a  year  before  the  winds  and  waves  finally 
brought  Tom  Gragg  home  to  wife  and  son,  and  the 
village  saw  the  big  man  with  deep-set  grey  eyes  and  a 
beard  already  grizzled  going  to  the  post  office  every 
day  with  his  proud  little  son.  They  were  a  gallant 
pair,  and  of  the  two  the  father's  pride  in  his  boy  was 
the  more  noticeable  because  he  was  held  to  be  a  mas- 
terful man  aboard  a  ship,  and  everyone  in  Waqua- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      51 

nesett  had  heard  how  he  ended  a  mutiny  with  a  be- 
laying pin  that  killed  the  first  who  came  aft. 

On  Sundays  Captain  Gragg  sat  at  the  head  of  his 
pew  in  the  Orthodox  Meeting-house,  and  little  Galton, 
between  his  father  and  mother,  sat  up  very  straight  on 
the  most  uncomfortable  shelf  that  could  possibly  serve 
as  a  seat  for  human  beings  and  swung  his  feet  for  two 
hours.  The  warnings  issued  by  the  Reverend  Jere- 
miah Driggs  of  the  wrath  to  come,  warnings  accen- 
tuated by  a  fist  that  smote  the  Holy  Bible  on  the  pulpit, 
meant  nothing  to  Galton.  It  was  a  minister's  way  of 
doing  business,  and  grown-up  folks  liked  it.  They 
liked  also  the  sound  of  their  own  voices  raised  in  hymns 
of  praise  which  they  sang  through  their  noses,  facing 
the  choir  up  in  the  gallery,  but  Galton  found  this  very 
dull,  also,  and  the  frequent  exhortation  to  sinners 
seemed  to  be  wasted  on  a  congregation  of  saints  inas- 
much as  none  but  church  members  ever  attended.  He 
hated  Sunday  exactly  as  he  hated  castor  oil:  without 
daring  to  say  so,  and  fully  persuaded  that  in  the  mys- 
terious ways  of  Providence  anything  so  unpalatable 
must  be  good  for  you. 

He  attended  the  village  school,  and  before  his  thir- 
teenth birthday  had  fought  every  boy  in  his  class 
and  whipped  each  in  turn;  and  had  been  flogged  by 
the  head  master  for  refusing  to  tell  who  took  the 
tongue  out  of  the  bell,  causing  recess  one  day  to  last 
an  hour.  But  nearly  every  boy  and  every  girl  in  the 
school  was  fond  of  Galton  Gragg,  and  every  teacher 
had  to  admit  that  he  was  a  very  apt  scholar,  which  was 
something  unusual  for  a  boy  who  was  first  in  all  the 


52      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

sports.  As  was  natural,  this  physical  and  mental  su- 
periority resulted  in  an  egotism  that  was  only  the  cli- 
max of  self-confidence. 

It  was  in  his  fourteenth  year  that  he  first  showed 
any  interest  in  girls,  and  then  it  was  only  in  one  girl 
who  had  come  to  Waquanesett  for  the  summer.  She 
came  into  "  the  store  "  while  Galton  was  waiting  for 
the  mail  to  be  sorted,  and  with  the  accurate  appraisal 
common  to  all  children,  he  knew  that  she  was  twelve 
and  that  the  little  brother  with  her  was  eight. 

"Why  should  we  wait,  Barbara?"  the  small  boy 
asked,  and  Barbara,  with  a  toss  of  brown  curls  and  a 
laugh  that  displayed  a  very  pretty  mouth,  shot  a  quick 
glance  at  the  handsome  boy  leaning  against  the  coun- 
ter, and  bade  her  brother  run  along  home. 

"  Now  that  I'm  here  I'm  going  to  stay,"  she  said, 
and  by  the  merest  accident  she  caught  Galton's  eye. 

"  The  mail  is  most  generally  late,"  Galton  explained, 
and  immediately  thought  it  was  rather  a  silly  thing  to 
say  to  a  strange  girl.  But  the  strange  girl  seemed  to 
like  it,  and  rejoined: 

"  It's  awfully  stupid  to  wait  round  for  letters,  be- 
cause usually  you  don't  get  any." 

Galton  shuffled  his  feet  and  leaned  back  against  the 
showcase  in  an  effort  to  appear  at  ease,  but  he  could 
think  of  nothing  to  say.  Barbara,  who  wondered  why 
boys  were  so  much  more  shy  than  girls,  came  to  his 
rescue : 

"  I  love  Waquanesett, —  I  think  it's  the  dearest  place. 
Do  you  live  here  all  the  time?  " 

"  I  do  now,"  Galton  answered  reluctantly,  "  but  I'm 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      53 

not  going  to.  Father  says  I  can  go  up  to  a  prepara- 
tory school  and  then  to  Harvard." 

"  What  fun !  "  Barbara  exclaimed,  and  as  her  merry 
laugh  rippled  at  the  thought  of  it,  Galton  noted  that  her 
hair  rippled,  too,  and  her  eyes  rippled  in  a  very  pro- 
voking little  way;  even  her  cheeks  rippled,  leaving  a 
dimple  in  each.  And  when  she  had  gathered  up  from 
the  postmaster's  little  window  the  Wraytons'  mail  — 
Galton  heard  her  ask  for  it  —  there  was  a  decided 
ripple  in  the  swing  of  her  skirts  as  she  went  out,  utterly 
forgetting  him ;  then  at  the  door  she  turned  and,  catch- 
ing sight  of  him,  smiled  the  same  rippling  smile,  and 
was  gone. 

That  was  the  very  ordinary  beginning  of  it,  of  the 
boy's  infatuation  and  the  girl's  admiration  for  strength, 
courage,  ability  —  manliness;  of  the  friendship  which 
for  two  years  swung  them  back  and  forth  from  per- 
fect accord  to  violent  quarrel,  from  the  normal  healthy 
friendship  of  boy  and  girl  to  the  silly  misunderstanding 
based  on  jealousy.  The  jealousy  was  always  Gal- 
ton's  ;  ownership  was  comprehended  in  his  idea  of  af- 
fection. And  Barbara  loved  to  tease  him ;  what  right 
had  he  to  be  jealous?  They  were  only  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  and  a  girl  surely  wouldn't  be  foolish  enough  to 
tie  herself  to  one  boy.  Nevertheless  she  showed  a 
marked  preference  for  Galton,  always. 

Then,  in  his  sixteenth  year,  his  father,  who  had 
prospered  and  owned  a  large  interest  in  a  tramp 
steamer  then  plying  her  trade  in  the  Pacific,  took  him 
out  of  school  in  March  to  accompany  him  on  a  voyage 
from  Tacoma  to  Yokohama. 


54      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

For  once  Tom  Gragg  went  as  a  passenger,  and  en- 
joyed a  passenger's  idleness  and  ease  during  the  three 
weeks'  voyage,  for  the  tramp  was  roomy  but  slow. 

At  last,  one  morning,  they  were  surrounded  by  small, 
unpainted  fishing  boats;  kites  swooped  down  to  touch 
the  waves  with  their  broad,  fringed  wings;  far  off 
towered  the  lovely  Fujiyama,  snow-clad  near  the  sum- 
mit, and  the  ship  slowly  crept  in  between  the  white  and 
the  red  lighthouses  that  mark  the  breakwater  of  Yoko- 
hama harbor,  and  came  to  anchor.  Here  they  were 
detained  by  fussy,  pompous  customs  officials,  and  then 
they  landed  from  one  of  the  little  fishing  boats. 

Galton  in  a  jinrickisha  drawn  by  .a  sturdy  coolie  was 
not  quite  sure  that  he  hadn't  suddenly  become  a  figure 
in  a  picture-book,  everything  was  so  unreal :  the  people 
all  so  gaily  dressed  in  bright  kimonos;  the  little  stal- 
lions gaudily  harnessed,  dragging  their  loads  on  low 
drays  and  always  following  their  drivers  who  walked 
ahead  with  the  halter  over  their  shoulders;  the  shops 
open  to  the  street;  and  everywhere  color,  beauty, 
crowds  of  little  brown  people,  and  the  clack-clack  of 
wooden  shoes. 

In  the  foreign  quarter  they  were  very  comfortably 
settled  at  the  Oriental  Palace  Hotel,  where  their  rooms 
opened  out  upon  the  Bund  and  the  busy  waterfront. 
That  night  at  dinner  Tom  Gragg  called  Galton's  atten- 
tion to  a  lean  bronzed  man  at  a  small  table  with  a  tall, 
dark  boy.  The  man,  though  in  civilian  dress,  looked 
like  an  army  officer,  and  the  boy  might  easily  have  been 
his  son. 

"  That's  a  kind  of  people  we  don't  see  so  often  in 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      55 

New  England,"  Captain  Gragg  explained ;  "  it's  the 
English  type,  and,  wherever  I've  met  it,  it  rings  true." 

After  dinner  they  had  coffee  in  the  lounge,  and  Gal- 
ton  saw  that  the  dark  English  boy  was  much  interested 
in  the  four  tiers  of  galleries  that  surrounded  the  big 
room,  ventilating  the  whole  house  through  a  huge  sky- 
light, and  furnishing  an  impressive  architectural  fea- 
ture at  the  expense  of  much  space.  Something  about 
Tom  Gragg's  big,  rugged  personality,  or  else  the  simi- 
larity of  his  also  traveling  with  a  sixteen-year-old  boy, 
drew  the  military  man  very  soon  into  conversation. 

"  Fine  house  this,  sir,"  he  remarked,  as  he  lit  his 
cigar  at  one  of  the  little  tables  next  to  the  Graggs. 

"  Never  stopped  here  before,  always  been  to  the 
Grand,  something  very  homelike  about  this."  The 
dark  boy  watched  him  closely  when  he  spoke,  as 
though  he  thought  it  was  addressed  to  him,  or  he 
might  be  deaf,  Galton  wasn't  sure  which.  And  when 
Captain  Gragg  replied  that  he  had  always  on  former 
visits  been  aboard  of  his  own  ship,  the  boy  seemed  to 
be  studying  him  with  equal  intentness. 

"Are  you  staying  here  long?"  Galton  asked  him, 
and  he  didn't  raise  his  voice  for  fear  that  might  not 
be  the  right  method. 

"  We  are  here  now  but  five  days,"  the  boy  answered, 
"  and  we  stay  some  three  weeks  or  month  yet  for  see- 
ing Japan." 

Evidently,  Galton  thought,  these  are  not  father  and 
son.  This  boy  is  a  foreigner;  perhaps  an  Italian. 
But  he  liked  him,  whatever  he  was ;  there  was  a  wistful 
look  in  his  dark  eyes,  and  a  smile  that  was  half-sad, 


56      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

half-laughing  but  always  sympathetic  and  understand- 
ing. So  much  Galton  had  decided  that  first  evening. 
And  Conger,  when  he  talked  it  over  with  Major 
Thornton,  and  learned  from  him  that  these  Graggs 
were  typical  New  England  people,  declared  that  he 
was  delighted  to  know  it,  for  they  seemed  to  him  like 
pure  metal — "  like  you,  yourself,  my  dear  major,  and 
my  beloved  mandarin." 

"  God's  own  people,  New  Englanders,"  Major 
Thornton  added,  "  in  God's  own  country." 

"  So  ?  "  Conger  replied.  "  Yet  you  mean  only  the 
little  god  of  the  Hebrew  people?" 

"My!  What  a  lot  I've  got  to  teach  you,"  the 
major  rejoined,  "and  how  doubtful  you  make  me  of 
my  own  knowledge." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  See  here,  Conger,  don't  you  know  that  some  things 
are  absolutely  wrong,  because  God  has  forbidden 
them?" 

The  two  boys,  who  had  been  friends  for  a  month, 
were  visiting  the  great  temple  of  Kwannon,  Goddess 
of  Mercy,  in  Kioto.  They  had  agreed  in  their  ad- 
miration of  the  building,  seven  hundred  and  fifty  years 
old ;  but  to  Galton's  pure  New  England  training  it  was 
nothing  less  than  sacrilege  for  Conger  Howe  to  say, 
as  he  did,  that  these  ten  hundred  and  one  huge  gilded 
images  of  a  heathen  goddess  were  just  as  sacred  as  the 
altar  and  images  in  the  little  Christian  church.  And 
it  only  added  to  his  shock  when  Conger  calmly  asked : 
"  Which  god  ?  For  some  forbid  one  thing,  some  an- 
other, and  my  mandarin  told  me  it  made  all  difference 
where  the  gods  were  made." 

"  Don't !  "  Galton  commanded.  "  I  feel  afraid  to 
listen  to  such  talk.  So  you  really  are  a  heathen  your- 
self!" 

"  Probably,"  Conger  admitted,  utterly  unconscious 
of  the  enormity  of  his  crime. 

When  they  came  down  the  long  flight  of  stone  steps 
from  the  temple  a  crowd  was  gathered  about  the  great 
bell  of  Daibutsu,  and  a  sturdy  Japanese  was  swinging 
the  long  boom  by  which  the  bell  is  rung  and  at  each 
stroke  a  prayer  is  registered  in  Buddha's  Book  of  Life. 
An  official  of  high  rank,  indicated  by  the  buttons  on  his 

57 


58      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

cuffs,  a  three-button  man,  was  on  his  way  to  the  temple, 
and  a  policeman  set  to  work  with  his  stick  to  clear  the 
way  for  him.  One  old  man  was  knocked  down,  one 
was  cut  across  the  face,  the  crowd  fled  in  abject  terror, 
and  with  them,  all  unmindful  of  any  lack  of  dignity, 
went  Conger  Howe  as  he  had  gone  hundreds  of  times 
in  China,  never  questioning  the  policeman's  right  to 
beat  him  or  to  shove  him  aside  for  his  betters. 

Looking  back  from  a  safe  position  he  saw  Galton 
Gragg  firmly  occupying  the  very  spot  where  he  had 
left  him,  and  returning  with  interest  the  glare  of  the 
official  who,  seeing  in  the  boy  an  American,  merely 
smiled  indulgently  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  One  thing  his  heathen  training  has  done  for  him," 
Galton  thought,  as  he  saw  Conger's  ignominious 
flight, — "  it  has  made  him  a  coward."  A  year  or  two 
earlier  he  would  have  told  Conger  this  thought,  and 
fought  him,  if  need  be,  to  prove  it.  But  association 
with  his  father  was  teaching  him  reticence. 

In  the  evening  they  went  to  the  theatre  to  see  one 
of  the  most  noted  Japanese  companies.  Their  way 
lay  through  the  Ponto  Cho,  and  Major  Thornton, 
whose  jinrickisha  was  ahead  of  the  others,  called  back: 
"  The  name  of  this  is  '  The  Street  that  is  called 
Straight ' ;  it  is  the  home  of  the  geisha."  Galton  and 
his  father  laughed  at  this  sally,  but  Conger  merely 
gave  his  usual  "Huh!"  which  was  a  vocal  nod  of 
assent.  Galton  made  a  mental  note  that  Conger  was 
lacking  the  sense  of  humor.  Galton  didn't  know  that 
his  friend  was  performing  miracles  in  learning  a  new 
and  difficult  language,  and  that  Major  Thornton's 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      59 

translation    of    Ponto    Cho    meant    nothing   to   him. 

At  the  theatre  all  the  Japanese  left  their  wooden 
shoes  outside,  and  the  foreigners  who  paid  double 
price,  or  one  yen  each,  to  sit  in  the  rickety  little  gal- 
lery, had  felt  socks  put  on  over  their  shoes.  To  the 
Japanese  there  seems  to  be  something  sacred  about 
straw  matting.  Conger,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the 
others,  refused  to  submit  to  this  extra  covering,  pre- 
ferring to  remove  his  shoes  and  go  in  stocking  feet, 
and  when  Major  Thornton  remonstrated  on  the 
ground  that  he  would  catch  cold,  he  explained : 

"  Why,  you  forget ;  I  never  wore  shoes  or  stockings 
until  four  years  ago." 

From  their  seats  they  looked  down  upon  a  crowded 
house,  the  people  huddled  together  as  close  as  they 
could  sit.  All  the  men  wore  their  hats ;  all  the  women 
were  hatless  as  usual ;  many  of  them  had  their  babies 
strapped  upon  their  backs;  and  many,  both  men  and 
women,  were  smoking.  There  was  no  music,  and 
when  the  play  began  a  young  woman,  carrying  her 
baby  on  her  back,  stood  close  to  the  footlights  and 
laughed  at  a  serious  performance.  There  was  enough 
of  familiar  melodrama  in  the  play  to  enable  the  four 
in  the  gallery,  without  understanding  a  word,  to  dis- 
tinguish the  benevolent  hero  from  the  ranting  villain. 
There  was  even  a  cooing  quality  in  the  tone  of  one  of 
the  women  which  marked  her  as  the  heroine. 

At  the  close  of  the  first  act  the  footlights  were  ex- 
tinguished, and  in  the  resultant  gloom  the  stage  car- 
penters were  seen  at  work  on  the  next  setting.  There 
was  much  coughing  and  lighting  of  cigarettes  in  the 


60      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

audience.  Some  careless  person  on  the  stage  over- 
turned a  lamp,  and  instantly  the  flimsy  woodwork  was 
in  a  blaze. 

Conger  with  keen  interest  watched  the  stage  hands. 
Each  man  seemed  to  know  just  what  was  to  be  done 
and  how  to  do  it.  In  a  surprisingly  short  time  the  fire 
was  completely  smothered,  and  the  panicky  audience 
that  had  fled  for  the  street  was  slowly  coming  back, 
but  the  house  was  chokingly  filled  with  smoke.  Then 
it  was  that  Conger  discovered  that  he  was  alone  in  the 
gallery.  At  the  first  warning  crackle  and  leap  of 
flames  Galton  had  jumped  for  the  stairway,  followed 
by  the  two  men.  This  they  confessed  when  Conger 
joined  them,  shoes  in  hand,  and  Major  Thornton  was 
the  only  one  of  the  three  who  gave  him  any  credit  for 
coolness ;  to  the  others  he  was  only  slow. 

And  all  this  time  Conger  in  his  new  and  strange  sur- 
roundings was  adapting  himself  as  only  a  very  sensi- 
tive nature  could,  noting  constantly  wherein  the  ways 
of  Europeans  were  superior  to  the  Chinese.  Where, 
as  in  religious  matters,  he  saw  no  particular  superiority, 
he  refused  to  accept  the  new  merely  because  it  came 
with  a  better  civilization,  and,  though  none  suspected 
it,  his  new  friends  were  not  much  oftener  pained  by 
his  deficiencies  than  was  he  by  theirs. 

Something,  whether  inherited  or  acquired  by  the 
hard  conditions  of  his  childhood,  had  made  him  at  six- 
teen unusually  self-reliant  mentally.  It  wasn't  that 
he  felt  sure  of  himself;  it  was  that  he  was  set  upon 
finding  out  instead  of  following  blindly  the  lead  of 
others. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      61 

Late  that  night  he  sat  at  his  bedroom  window  look- 
ing off  at  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  city,  and  trying 
to  accommodate  himself  to  American  ideas.  "  How 
little  they  understand,"  he  thought,  "  how  great  is  the 
change  for  a  boy  who  for  the  first  half  of  his  life 
thought  himself  Chinese  and  hated  the  foreign  devils 
—  and  now,  behold,  he  is  one  of  them  himself !  I  can- 
not yet  see  why  this  arrogance  which  looks  down  upon 
other  nations  so  much  older  and  wiser  because  they 
differ  in  speech,  in  dress,  in  habits.  Not  one  of  these 
has  the  wisdom  or  the  learning  of  my  mandarin,  yet 
they  would  consider  him  inferior.  And  always  Major 
Thornton  preaches  to  me  about  democracy,  and  gets 
angry  when  I  ask  if  in  his  country  the  uneducated 
masses  are  wiser  or  more  trustworthy  than  the  edu- 
cated few. 

"  He  explains  to  me  that  in  America  all  men  are  born 
equal,  but  it  seems  from  what  they  tell  me  that  they 
do  not  remain  equal  after  their  first  breath  of  the  air 
of  freedom.  I  cannot  see  the  sense  in  all  this.  But 
why  am  I  glad  to  be  leaving  my  native  land  in  the 
company  of  these  over-confident  strangers?" 

Then  his  memory  went  back  over  his  early  life,  the 
poverty  and  toil,  The  Rat's  cruelty  and  cunning;  once 
more  he  was  spending  those  golden  years  with  his  dear 
mandarin,  and  then  came  back  the  cold  horror  of  that 
sacrifice  to  suit  the  whim  of  a  merciless,  pitiless  mon- 
arch. Ah!  After  all,  there  was  something  in  their 
democracy. 

But  how  violent  the  changes  he  had  undergone  in 
his  sixteen  years :  a  few  months  ago  he  was  Chinese,  in 


62       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

dress,  in  thought,  in  every  aspiration  for  the  future, 
wholly  Chinese.  And  now  —  not  only  acquiring  a 
new  language,  but  new  ideals. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  mused,  "  whether  I  can  ever  get  so 
far  from  China  that  I  shall  reverence  newness  as  these 
people  do.  And  play  —  why,  grown  men  pride  them- 
selves on  their  cleverness  in  playing  games!  Even 
here  in  Japan  the  people  play,  and  how  Galton  sneered 
because  I  couldn't  play  tennis  or  catch  a  ball!  Yet  I 
outran  him,  and  in  the  jiu-jitsu  school,  though  he  is 
bigger  and  stronger,  I  threw  him  because  I  was  quicker. 
And  when  I  threw  him  his  father  and  he  both  began 
making  excuses  to  explain  it." 

A  while  he  sat  pondering  these  strange  new  ex- 
periences and  their  strange  meanings.  Then  came  a 
knock  at  his  door,  and  Major  Thornton  had  come  to 
talk  over  these  very  questions  with  him. 

"  Are  you  sorry,"  the  major  asked,  "  to  be  taking 
this  great  step,  the  changing  over  from  a  Chinaman  to 
a  Yankee  ?  " 

"  Not  sorry,"  the  boy  said,  very  deliberately  to  pre- 
vent his  earliest  error  which  invariably  stumbled  over 
the  R,  pronouncing  it  as  L,  "  not  sorry,  but  much 
mixed.  I  have  been  thinking,  but  it  was  in  Chinese 
language.  When  I  think  new  country  I  feel  fear  — 
so  much  change.  Then  I  remember  my  mandarin,  his 
life,  his  death,  and  I  am  glad  to  go  to  new  country." 

"  And  aren't  you  a  little  fond  of  —  I  mean  glad  to 
go  with  me  ?  "  the  father  asked,  for  he  was  overwhelm- 
ingly conscious  of  paternity  now,  and  something  al- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      63 

most  overcame  him  at  every  intimate  talk  to  think  that 
he  must  never  tell  this  boy  the  truth. 

Conger  looked  at  him  for  an  instant  as  though  some 
suspicion  crossed  his  mind ;  then  he  said :  "  Oh,  yes, 
Major,  I  like  to  go  with  you  —  very  kind  gentleman  — 
but  I  do  not  yet  know  my  position.  My  mandarin  was 
blind;  he  had  need  of  me  —  but  you — " 

"  I  wish  to  be  like  a  father  to  you,  to  give  you  an 
education,  to  start  you  in  some  profession." 

"  But  for  what  is  this?     Am  I  to  do  nothing? " 

"  My  boy,  you  will  repay  me  in  after  life  when  I 
see  you  a  success,"  and  Major  Thornton,  much  em- 
barrassed by  the  boy's  direct  questions,  took  his  leave 
of  him  for  the  night,  promising  himself  more  satisfac- 
tory interviews  on  the  long  passage  across  the  Pacific. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Six  years  had  passed,  six  years  in  which  many  boys 
had  grown  into  young  men,  six  years  that  Conger 
Howe  and  Galton  Gragg  had  spent  in  school  and  col- 
lege side  by  side.  And  now  had  come  their  day  of 
graduation,  and  Galton,  who  had  been  prominent  in 
sports,  was  a  marshal  and  as  popular  as  any  man  in  the 
class.  Conger  had  won  an  Honorable  Mention  and 
had  "  cum  laude  "  on  his  degree,  but  not  half  the  class 
knew  him.  They  had  "  spread "  together  on  Class 
Day,  and  together  they  were  receiving  the  congratula- 
tions of  their  friends  at  Commencement. 

Little  Mrs.  Gragg,  so  proud  of  her  handsome  son 
that  she  couldn't  keep  back  the  tears,  walked  over  to  the 
boys'  rooms  with  Mrs.  Thornton;  they  had  met  but 
twice  before,  and  on  each  occasion  Mrs.  Thornton  had 
tried  to  let  Mrs.  Gragg  understand  that  such  meetings 
were  a  condescension  on  her  part.  But  Mrs.  Gragg 
was  the  social  leader  in  Waquanesett  —  even  Mrs. 
Driggs,  the  minister's  wife,  admitted  it  —  and  Mrs. 
Gragg  didn't  even  know  that  it  put  you  on  a  higher 
plane  to  live  in  Boston.  So  the  condescension  passed 
by  her  quite  unnoticed ;  her  heart  was  rilled  with  more 
important  things  than  her  own  position. 

"  Don't  you  feel  very  proud  of  Conger?  "  she  asked. 
"  He  is  such  a  dear  boy.  Last  summer  when  he  visited 
us  I  told  Galton  and  my  husband  that  I  had  learned 

64 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      65 

to  love  him  almost  as  though  he  belonged  to  me." 

"  You  know  he  doesn't  belong  to  me  —  in  any 
sense,"  Mrs.  Thornton  replied,  and  Mrs.  Gragg  glanc- 
ing at  her  saw  the  corners  of  her  very  straight  mouth 
drawn  down  into  a  firmer  negation  than  words  could 
possibly  utter. 

"  Cold,  cruel  and  self-satisfied,"  she  commented  to 
herself,  and  before  she  could  think  of  anything  to  say 
aloud,  Mrs.  Thornton  continued: 

"  The  boy  is  well  enough,  I  dare  say;  of  course  I 
haven't  had  to  see  much  of  him;  he  has  been  away  at 
school  and  college  —  but  here  are  my  two  girls,  twelve 
and  ten  —  goodness  me !  Jane  will  be  coming  out  in 
six  years,  and  that  foundling  has  been  taking  the  very 
clothes  off  their  backs." 

"  The  what?  "  Mrs.  Gragg  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  not  literally,  but  my  husband  isn't  rich,  and 
every  cent  spent  on  that  foundling  is  so  much  taken 
from  my  children.  Have  I  a  car?  No;  I  walk  or 
stand  up  in  crowded  street  cars  because  of  that  foun- 
dling." 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  felt  that  way  about  him,"  Mrs. 
Gragg  said  very  quietly. 

"  Wouldn't  you,  in  my  place  ?  "  the  other  snapped 
back. 

"  Not  if  it  were  Conger." 

"  Do  you  realize  when  you  say  that,"  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton asked  in  the  same  icy  tone  as  before,  "  what  it 
means  to  my  daughters,  who  are  getting  old  enough  to 
understand  things,  if  they  are  obliged  to  wink  at  im- 
morality? " 


"  Immorality  ?  "  Mrs.  Gragg  repeated.  "  Conger 
isn't  immoral." 

"  I   don't  know  what  your   standards   are,"   Mrs. 
Thornton  retorted,  "  but  didn't  you  know  that  he  is  — 
Here  she  looked  round  to  be  sure  that  no  one  heard  the 
awful  disclosure  and  ended  by  suppressing  it. 

"  But  surely  that  doesn't  make  him  immoral,  what- 
ever sin  others  may  have  committed !  " 

"  It  doesn't  ?  "  Mrs.  Thornton  rebuked  her  by  her 
very  tone.  "  A  child  born  out  of  wedlock?  " 

"  Very  unfortunate,"  Mrs.  Gragg  said  firmly,  "  but 
not  the  child's  fault." 

It  was  Mrs.  Thornton's  turn  to  look  surprised. 
Something  in  the  inflection  of  that  last  sentence  seemed 
to  put  her  in  a  class  by  herself.  Was  this  the  mild 
little  woman  whom  she  had  been  patronizing  by  walk- 
ing across  the  yard  with  her? 

"  Possibly  in  the  country  your  standards  are  lower." 
Let  Mrs.  Gragg  put  that  in  her  pipe ! 

But  Mrs.  Gragg,  little  as  she  was,  was  not  afraid 
of  a  dozen  Mrs.  Thorntons,  and  replied : 

"  Isn't  it  rather  stupid  of  us  women  to  talk  about 
morality  as  though  it  only  meant  such  things?  No  ir- 
regularity of  that  sort,  bad  as  it  is,  is  half  so  immoral 
and  vicious  as  selfishness,  dishonesty,  cowardice,  or 
cruelty." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause  while  Mrs.  Thornton 
swallowed  hard  and  relaxed  her  tight  mouth  sufficiently 
to  speak: 

"  And  you  are  a  woman !     And  talk  like  thatj  " 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  the  boys'  rooms,  and 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      67 

the  conversation  was  perforce  dropped,  but  the  two 
women  had  seen  each  other  in  quite  a  new  light,  and 
each  was  outraged  at  the  other's  point  of  view. 

Among  all  the  young  people  present,  gaily  chatter- 
ing, laughing,  joking,  there  was  something  that  at  once 
distinguished  the  quartet  over  in  the  far  corner  of  the 
living-room.  Both  the  boys  were  tall,  but  one  was 
decidedly  handsome ;  in  face,  in  figure,  in  his  carriage, 
there  was  an  air  of  superiority  about  Galton  Gragg 
that  is  Nature's  gift  to  those  who  are  born  to  rule. 

The  other  was  very  dark,  had  a  slight  stoop  from 
the  shoulders,  struck  you  as  slender,  rather  than  power- 
ful, and  there  were  two  vertical  lines  between  his  eye- 
brows which  gave  him  a  puzzled  expression.  It  might 
be  a  mental  habit,  or  it  might  mean  near-sight;  the 
puzzled  look  was  there. 

The  other  two  were  girls,  Barbara  Wrayton  grown 
into  a  lovely  young  woman  of  twenty  whose  brown 
hair  and  grey  eyes  still  rippled  as  they  did  when  as  a 
girl  of  twelve  she  had  first  attracted  Galton. 

"  Mr.  Howe,"  she  was  saying,  "  I  want  you  to  know 
my  dearest  friend,  Miss  Grayley.  And  why  is  this 
the  first  time  I've  met  you?  It  isn't  my  fault.  You 
know,  Bess,"  turning  to  her  friend,  "  this  Mr.  Conger 
Howe  and  Galton  have  been  intimate  for  years,  but  up 
to  now  he  has  been  a  sort  of  myth  like  Aladdin  or 
Jack  the  Giant  Killer." 

"  It  hasn't  been  through  any  fault  of  Galton's," 
Conger  confided,  "  I  don't  think  I  get  on  very  well 
with  girls  —  after  they  get  beyond  ten  or  twelve, — 
so  I've  just  kept  away  from  them." 


68      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"Perhaps  you're  above  them,"  Miss  Grayley  said; 
"  when  a  man  talks  like  that  usually  he  really  feels 
superior." 

Conger  laughed.  "  It  isn't  true  of  me.  Perhaps  it 
has  been  until  now  a  lack  of  interest  in  the  general 
proposition." 

"  Then  it's  up  to  us,"  Barbara  interposed,  "  to  make 
the  particular  proposition  so  attractive  that  you'll 
change  your  mind.  Now,  Bess,  you  see  you  are  to  be- 
have very  nicely  to  the  gentleman." 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  shall,"  Bess  answered.  "If  he 
isn't  very  nice  to  me,  why  should  I  ?  " 

"  Because  you  are  a  missionary  sent  out  to  save  that 
which  was  lost." 

"  But  I'm  not  lost,"  Conger  Howe  insisted,  "  at 
least,  not  yet." 

"  Then  you  don't  want  to  be  saved?  "  Barbara  asked, 
looking  mischievously  into  his  face  and  then  away  as 
though  afraid  of  what  she  saw  there.  Whereupon,  as 
many  another  unsuspecting  young  man  had  done  be- 
fore, Conger  rushed  in  pursuit:  "If  you  will  under- 
take to  save  me  I  think  I  might  try  it.  But,"  he  added, 
recovering  himself,  "  are  you  both  sure  that  you  know 
enough?  " 

"Know  enough?"  Miss  Grayley  was  piqued  at 
this  suggestion.  Good  heavens!  Hadn't  she  often 
thought  how  much  more  she  knew  than  the  boys  who 
had  only  been  through  college!  And  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted that  Miss  Grayley  had  sometimes  wondered 
how  she  had  managed  to  acquire  so  much  knowledge 
and  such  wisdom  with  so  little  study. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      69 

They  were  interrupted  in  their  conversation  by  Gal- 
ton's  father,  big,  self-reliant,  not  so  handsome  as  his 
son  who  had  his  mother  to  thank  for  much  of  his 
charm.  Captain  Gragg  was  very  proud  of  Gallon,  as 
well  he  might  be,  and  it  was  plain  that  he  was  fond 
of  Conger. 

"  Galton  is  keen  on  banking,"  he  said,  "  now  that 
he's  finished  his  education,  but  I  haven't  heard  what 
you  want  to  do." 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,"  Conger  answered  frankly, 
"  I'm  afraid  I  haven't  finished  mine,  and  I  should  like 
to  study  medicine  and  then  practise  law." 

"  That's  very  stupid,  Conger !  "  Mrs.  Thornton 
had  arrived  in  Captain  Gragg's  wake,  just  in  time  to 
hear  question  and  answer,  and  the  opportunity  to  show 
the  captain  that  she  was  thoroughly  a  woman  of  the 
world  and  wiser  than  most  was  too  good  to  be  lost 
If  her  husband  was  a  fool  in  his  treatment  of  found- 
lings, she  at  least  could  show  that  she  was  not. 

"  Excellent !  "  Captain  Gragg  exclaimed,  taking  the 
boy's  hand  and  quite  ignoring  the  lady,  "  and  what 
then?  What  are  you  going  to  hatch  out  of  such  an 
egg  as  that?  Going  into  the  medical  school  to  see 
what  comes  of  it?  " 

"  No,  Captain,"  the  boy  answered,  looking  directly 
into  Mrs.  Thornton's  eyes,  "  I  have  imposed  upon  my 
benefactor  long  enough ;  I  am  going  to  earn  my  living 
as  a  professional  amateur." 

Bess  Grayley  turned  to  Barbara  and  remarked :  "  I 
don't  wonder  nobody  has  ever  met  him  before ;  he  can't 
seem  to  utter  a  single  sentence  on  any  topic  whatsoever 


70      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

without  putting  his  foot  in  it.  How  Mrs.  Thornton 
does  love  him!  I  had  imagined  she  was  a  sort  of 
mother  to  him  instead  of  —  are  these  her  daugh- 
ters?" 

Barbara  turned  to  see  two  girls  dressed  in  pink  and 
white,  the  younger  one  a  smaller  edition  of  her  older 
sister. 

"  They  are  pretty,  if  their  mother  is  a  cat,"  Barbara 
commented,  "  only  I  wish  the  styles  were  more  con- 
siderate of  their  legs." 

"Of  their  legs?"  Bess  repeated. 

"  Yes,  when  a  girl  is  ten  or  twelve  and  the  lines  are 
parallel,  it's  unkind  of  Fashion  to  decree  that  the  proof 
be  extended  ad  infinitum." 

Whereupon  Bess  tried  to  appear  shocked,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  attracting  Galton's  attention  so  that  he 
begged  to  be  admitted  to  the  secret,  and  that  sent  Bess 
into  another  series  of  giggles  from  which  she  suddenly 
emerged  to  exclaim :  "  I  do  declare,  Conger  Howe 
was  telling  the  truth.  Look  at  him  chatting  away  as 
happy  as  a  puppy  dog  with  those  two  children,  and  he 
simply  made  excuses  to  get  away  from  us  as  soon  as 
we  were  introduced." 

"  Is  he  really  shy  or  just  a  woman-hater?  "  Barbara 
added. 

"  A  little  of  each,"  Galton  answered. 

"  Then,  it  is  my  duty  to  cure  him,"  Bess  asserted, 
with  a  defiant  glance  at  the  two  little  girls  who  were 
monopolizing  his  attention. 

"Well,  what  shall  you  prescribe?"  Galton  asked. 

"  Something  from  our  Matthew  Arnold,  I'm  sure," 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      71 

Barbara  said,  "  we  had  it  the  last  year  in  school : 
'  Sweetness  and  Light.' ' 

"  And  he  stole  that  from  Swift,"  Galton  added. 

"  My !  How  learned  these  seniors  are !  "  Bess  com- 
mented. "  But  you're  not  going  to  deter  me  from  my 
splendid  purpose."  And  at  that  she  crossed  boldly 
to  where  Conger  still  talked  with  Jane  and  Nancy 
Thornton. 

Left  alone  with  Barbara,  Galton,  who  had  been 
waiting  for  just  such  an  opportunity,  said :  "  Do  you 
recall  a  talk  we  had  two  years  ago  on  the  beach  at 
Waquanesett  ?  " 

Barbara  flushed,  showing  that  she  did  remember  it, 
but  laughed.  "  We  were  very  young  then.  And,  be- 
sides, all  I  said  was  that  we'd  better  wait  till  you  were 
out  of  college." 

"  Well,  I  am  out,  to-day.  You  can't  get  away  from 
it,  you  have  been  my  girl  ever  since  I  first  caught  sight 
of  you.  You  were  only  twelve  then  and  now  you're 
twenty.  Of  course  it  needn't  be  an  engagement.  I 
mean  it  needn't  come  out  —  until  I  get  to  earning 
something  — " 

"  You  seem  to  be  settling  it  all  very  nicely  without 
any  help  from  me,"  Barbara  interjected,  looking  be- 
yond him  to  where  Bess  Grayley  was  trying  her  hand 
at  conquest. 

"  Please  be  serious,  Barbara,"  he  urged.  "  You  will 
admit  that  a  fellow  who  has  done  what  I  have  in  ath- 
letics, and  also  graduated  with  honors,  has  a  right  to 
assume  he  can  earn  a  living." 

"  I'm  not  doubting  that  for  a  minute,"  Barbara  an- 


72      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

swered,  smiling  her  sweetest,  "  and  everyone  knows 
that  you  have  uncommon  ability.  I'm  very  proud  of 
you.  But  when  it  comes  to  putting  your  name  on  me 
like  an  armchair  in  an  auction-room,  because  you  saw 
me  first, —  I'm  not  an  armchair,  and  I'm  not  for  sale." 

"  But  I  never  intimated  that  you  were.  I  only  say 
that  you  and  I  belong  to  each  other,  and  no  one  shall 
ever  take  you  from  me." 

"  Bess !  O  Bess ! "  Barbara  called,  as  though  she 
hadn't  heard  this  speech.  "  Don't  go  by  us  without 
reporting  how  you  got  on  as  a  doctor.  Did  you  cure 
him,  or  only  catch  his  disease?  " 

"  He  is  simply  unbearable,"  Bess  declared.  "  When 
I  could  get  a  word  in  edgewise  I  asked  the  Thornton 
girls,  as  an  adroit  way  to  sidetrack  them,  if  they  knew 
there  was  a  nice  little  luncheon  in  the  other  room,  and 
he  actually  asked  me  please  not  to  interrupt  as  they 
were  right  in  the  midst  of  a  distussion." 

Galton  laughed  almost  too  heartily  at  this  confes- 
sion of  failure.  Miss  Grayley  little  suspected  that  the 
good-natured  Galton  was  glad  of  company  in  his  own 
momentary  defeat,  and  Barbara,  as  placid  as  a  May 
morning,  took  her  friend's  arm  and  led  her  off  to  see 
just  how  good  the  luncheon  was.  But  even  as  she 
went,  something  in  her  walk  —  or  was  it  something 
more  subtle?  —  caught  Conger's  eye,  and  for  an  in- 
stant the  little  Thorntons  were  forgotten. 

It  was  only  a  flash,  but  Galton  saw  it,  and  Galton 
knew  that  on  Barbara's  part  it  was  not  mere  accident. 
She  craved  admiration,  and  in  the  most  mysterious 
ways  she  always  got  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

If  Barbara  could  have  heard  the  conversation  over 
in  the  corner  she  might  have  been  surprised  to  learn 
that  a  toss  of  her  pretty  head  terminated  what  Conger 
had  called  a  discussion,  and  that,  in  its  place,  she  her- 
self became  their  topic. 

"Don't  you  think  she's  perfectly  adorable?"  Jane 
asked,  with  the  superlative  enthusiasm  of  her  age  and 
sex. 

"  No,  I  certainly  do  not,"  Conger  answered.  "  But 
she's  a  very  pretty  girl;  knows  it;  uses  it;  lives  on  it, 
I  dare  say." 

"  Do  you  like  homely  people  better  than  pretty 
ones  ?  "  Nancy  asked. 

At  this  he  laughed.  "  I  wish  I  could  see  more  of 
you  girls.  Here  we  are  calling  each  other  cousins, 
and  your  father  giving  me  everything  I  have  in  life, — 
and  yet  I  see  you  only  at  rare  intervals.  No,  Nan,  you 
and  Jane  are  living  proofs  that  I  like  some  pretty  girls 
—  not  that  you  are  as  pretty  as  Barbara  Wrayton." 

"  Oh,  dear,  you're  spoiling  it  now,"  Jane  urged ; 
"  do  let  us  hear  something  nice  once  in  a  while !  " 

"  Jane,  can't  you  and  Nan  find  some  one  to  talk  to  ?  " 

There  was  more  in  the  tone  of  their  mother's  voice, 
and  in  the  look  she  shot  at  Conger  than  her  inter- 
ruption itself  conveyed,  but  her  daughters  knew  her, 
and  without  a  word  of  protest  they  left  in  pursuit  of 
other  companions.  Never  before  had  Conger  uttered 

73 


74      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

the  protest  in  his  heart  against  her  evident  hostility. 
Now.it  flared  up  and  was  out  before  he  could  consider 
it.  She  had  already  turned  to  follow  the  girls  when 
this  sentence  recalled  her,  and  facing  about  she  was 
confronted  with  such  a  scorching  flame  in  the  eyes  of 
the  always  mild  young  man,  that  her  own  lacked  the 
courage  to  face  it,  and  looked  away  in  terror.  How 
dared  he  or  anyone  else  to  glare  at  her !  She  was  the 
one  to  practise  that  sort  of  thing.  Why,  even  Major 
Thornton  never  had  such  audacity !  What  was  it  that 
he  had  said? 

"  If  I  live,  Madam,  I  shall  repay  every  cent  that 
your  husband  has  so  kindly  spent  on  me.  But  he  had 
a  perfect  right  to  spend  it." 

"What  is  this?"  a  stern  voice  interrupted.  "Are 
you  presuming  to  use  any  such  tone  to  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton?" 

Conger  had  never  seen  Major  Thornton  angry  be- 
fore ;  his  face  was  very  red,  and  his  eyes  —  if  Conger 
could  have  seen,  the  major's  eyes  were  very  much  like 
his  own. 

"  I  am  not  presuming,"  the  young  man  insisted, 
"  but  Mrs.  Thornton  has  just  sent  the  girls  away  from 
me  as  though  I  were  some  loathsome  object.  I  owe 
you  a  great  deal,  sir ;  far  more  than  money  can  repay, 
but—" 

"  He  merely,"  the  lady  said,  very  bold  again  now 
that  she  was  re-enforced  by  her  husband,  "  showed  his 
bad  breeding.  He  will  never  be  a  gentleman.  It  only 
proves  how  wise  I  was  to  prevent  you  from  adopting 
him.  He  is  disgrace  enough  as  it  is." 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      75 

Major  Thornton  bit  his  lip,  and  looked  from  one  to 
the  other.  How  little  they  knew  that  this  was  harder 
for  him  than  for  either  of  them !  Of  one  thing  he 
was  very  sure ;  Conger  had  spoken  the  truth ;  he  had 
spent  his  own  money  on  Conger's  education  and  sup- 
port for  the  past  six  years,  and  was  not  answerable  to 
any  one  for  his  conduct. 

But  for  years  his  wife  had  had  her  way,  and  this  was 
the  only  instance  in  their  married  life  when  she  had 
not  arranged  things  to  suit  herself.  She  had  indeed 
prevented  a  legal  adoption,  but  beyond  that  to  prayers 
and  threats  alike  the  major  had  proved  obdurate.  He 
would  educate  the  boy  as  he  had  set  out  to  do.  She 
could  keep  him  out  of  the  house,  but  he  wasn't  to  be 
turned  adrift. 

Now  in  great  distress  the  father  only  bit  his  lip,  but 
Mrs.  Thornton  knew  that  he  was  a  strong  man,  that  if 
his  will  once  broke  through  the  thin  wall  of  her  own 
pretension  she  would  never  again  control  him,  and 
Mrs.  Thornton  for  once  was  silent. 

The  anger  faded  from  Conger's  expression,  giving 
place  once  more  to  the  puzzled  look  between  his  eyes. 
He  loved  his  benefactor  almost  as  he  had  loved  his 
mandarin,  and  he  would  gladly  have  taken  a  whip  to 
his  benefactor's  wife  as  he  had  often  seen  The  Rat 
treat  Ya-Tzu,  with  the  difference  that  Ya-Tzu  never 
deserved  it.  Why  were  things  so  different  in  this 
country?  Major  Thornton  was  a  brave  man  and 
strong,  yet  he  seemed  to  fear  this  sour-visaged  woman 
as  though  he  were  a  coward. 

A  minute  more,  and  Mrs.  Thornton  had  left  them. 


;6      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Then  the  father,  taking  his  'boy's  hand,  said :  "  You 
will  make  it  so  much  easier  for  me  if  you  can  control 
yourself.  My  dear  boy,  you  do  not  at  all  understand 
our  American  women ;  they  are  not  chattels  — " 

"  Chattels  ?  "  Conger  repeated.  "  Why,  here  they 
are  dowager  empresses.  Even  you,  my  patron,  you 
who  are  brave  with  men,  have  no  courage  when  she 
speaks." 

"  I  cannot  let  you  talk  like  that!  "  Major  Thornton 
commanded. 

"  Then  I  will  not  say  it.  But  it  is  none  the  less 
true."  And  thereupon  the  major,  frowning  and  much 
troubled  in  spirit,  went  to  find  his  wi-fe. 

Conger  was  left  alone.  The  puzzled  look  gave 
place  to  one  of  genuine  pain.  First  the  two  young 
ladies,  then  Galton,  the  two  little  Thornton  girls,  and 
now  his  patron  —  all  had  fled  from  him,  as  from  a 
pestilence.  There  was,  then,  something  in  this  land  of 
pretended  equality  that  made  one  of  unknown  parent- 
age an  object  of  scorn.  Without  waiting  for  the  de- 
parture of  their  guests  he  quietly  found  his  hat  and 
walked  out.  Hours  later  when  darkness  came  he  was 
seated  on  the  bank  of  the  Charles  River  ten  miles  up 
stream,  carefully  reviewing  his  resources  with  a  view 
to  determining  how  most  quickly  he  could  turn  them 
to  such  account  as  to  earn  his  living. 

He  had  always  been  clever  at  drawing,  not  that  it 
had  ever  been  called  a  talent,  for  there  was  no  one  near 
him  competent  to  criticise,  but  his  note-books  were 
filled  with  sketches,  and  nothing  in  nature  appealed  to 
him  so  strongly  as  color.  Yet  it  was  not  the  bold, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      77 

strong  tones  that  delighted  him ;  he  called  them  garish 
and  when  his  friends  accused  him  of  preferring  his 
colors  muted  because  he  was  afraid  of  them  full 
strength,  he  only  shook  his  head  and  did  not  attempt  to 
reply.  Strong  colors  were  to  him  like  noise  and  pro- 
fanity —  they  hurt,  and  he  avoided  them.  So  now  as 
he  pondered  this  question  of  a  means  of  living,  sum- 
ming up  his  tastes  and  abilities,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  must  study  and  procure  the  beautiful.  "  I  may 
never  produce,  but  if  I  procure  from  their  sources  true 
works  of  art  I  shall  find  appreciative  buyers  here  in 
America."  This  was  the  summing  up  of  his  afternoon 
and  evening  of  contemplation;  this  was  his  appraisal 
of  his  stock  in  trade;  he  was  too  modest  to  set  a  high 
value  on  his  own  work. 

Meanwhile  both  Barbara  Wrayton  and  Bess  Gray- 
ley,  if  the  truth  were  known,  were  much  disappointed 
at  his  failure  to  reappear,  for  each  in  her  way  had  de- 
cided to  reform  him,  and  neither  was  willing  to  admit 
that  she  had  utterly  failed  to  impress  him. 

"  I  don't  know  why  I  care,"  Barbara  said  frankly 
to  her  friend,  "  but  there  is  something  wistful  about 
those  eyes  that  just  makes  you  wonder  whether  he's 
hungry  for  something,  and  that  will  not  let  you  hate 
him  even  if  you  would  like  to.  Besides,  I'm  afraid  I 
hurt  his  feelings." 

"  Sounds  to  me  like  a  crush,"  Bess  commented. 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Bess.  No  girl  under  forty  would 
get  a  crush  on  him  —  but  you  can  feel  sorry  just  as 
you  do  for  the  dog  without  any  collar,  and  a  lost 
look." 


78      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  You  mean  tail  between  his  legs,  running  for  a 
place  to  hide?"  Bess  asked. 

"  Come  now,  Bess,  do  you  think  he  suggests  any- 
thing like  that?" 

"  Not  to  me,"  Bess  answered ;  "  the  simile  isn't  mine. 
All  the  same  I  did  want  another  chaftce  at  him  for  his 
own  sake,  of  course.  He  needs  guiding  and  —  well, 
I  think  I  could  have  shown  him  a  few  things." 

Finding  their  mother  elsewhere  occupied  the  Thorn- 
ton girls  came  back  also  to  finish  their  talk  with  Con- 
ger. Barbara  appealed  to  them :  "  Isn't  Conger 
Howe  a  sort  of  cousin  of  yours?  " 

"  He  isn't  really  anything  to  us,"  Jane  answered, 
"  I  mean  he  isn't  related  to  us.  But  he's  always  per- 
fectly dear,  and  treats  you  just  as  if  you  were  grown 
up." 

"  And  he  tells  the  most  wonderful  stories  about 
China,"  little  Nancy  added.  "  And  when  you  walk 
along  the  street  he'd  just  as  soon  let  you  take  hold  of 
his  hand.  Well,  you  needn't  laugh,  Miss  Grayley; 
lots  of  people,  unless  they  are  old,  are  dreadfully  em- 
barrassed if  you  take  hold  of  their  hand." 

"  It  is  rather  babyish,"  her  sister  remarked. 

"  He  doesn't  think  so,"  Nancy  insisted,  "  and  I  like 
the  funny  way  he  squinnies  up  his  eyes." 

But,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  four  such  attractive  girls 
were  waiting  for  him,  Conger  did  not  reappear,  and 
years  had  passed  before  they  saw  him  again. 


CHAPTER  XI 

During  those  years  Conger  had  been  in  Paris  study- 
ing art;  his  patron  being  only  too  glad  to  yield  to  the 
boy's  desire.  Home  was  far  pleasanter  for  Major 
Thornton  when  his  wife  had  one  less  grievance  to  agi- 
tate, and,  though  his  duties  took  him  away  frequently, 
it  was  very  important  for  his  children  that  quarrels 
should  be  reduced  to  a  minimum. 

So  he  had  sent  Conger  to  Paris,  and  Mrs.  Thornton 
had  prayed  that  he  might  never  return.  Yet  he  did 
return  looking  just  the  same  but  having  gained  vastly 
in  general  knowledge  of  the  world. 

It  appeared  that  he  had  brought  back  the  agency  for 
the  remarkable  paintings  of  Felix  fitron.  News  of  it 
reached  the  press  the  very  day  of  his  landing.  In  fact 
a  mysterious  cable  had  forewarned  the  press,  and  a 
dozen  reporters  awaited  the  young  man's  arrival  in 
New  York.  He  received  them  graciously,  explaining 
that  if  he  hadn't  happened  to  bring  the  collection  with 
him  it  would  almost  certainly  have  gone  —  well,  into 
other  hands, —  quite  likely  other  lands.  All  of  which, 
thoroughly  embellished,  appeared  in  the  next  morning's 
papers,  and  Felix  fitron  was  on  every  one's  lips.  Not 
to  have  heard  of  him  was  not  to  be  up  with  the  times. 
A  series  of  exhibitions  was  planned  in  various  cities, 
and  the  young  agent  found  himself  at  once  as  busy  as 
he  could  have  wished. 

70 


8o      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Gradually  it  leaked  out  that  three  of  this  artist's  pic- 
tures had  been  sold  in  Paris  at  phenomenal  prices,  and 
after  that  announcement  just  enough  news  of  Felix 
fitron  was  fed  to  the  public  to  keep  their  appetite  on 
edge.  Meantime,  to  the  surprise  of  his  friends,  Con- 
ger Howe,  instead  of  taking  advantage  of  such  good 
fortune,  went  down  to  Waquanesett  and  hired  a  room 
for  the  summer  at  the  Inn.  In  vain  did  Galton  lecture 
him  on  the  true  American  principle  of  striking  while 
the  iron  is  hot.  Conger  only  replied: 

"  I  think  the  American  idea  is  to  strike  until  the  iron 
gets  hot.  It  seems  to  me  we  worship  activity  and  for- 
get the  virtue  of  patience.  We  admire  the  man  or 
woman  who  dashes  in  without  waiting  to  count  the 
cost  or  even  to  decide  whether  dashing  in  is  what  is 
needed.  The  result  is  all  about  us;  in  abortive  laws, 
government  interference,  and  thousands  of  rattle- 
headed busybodies  who  imagine  they  are  doing  the 
world's  work." 

"  Have  your  own  way,"  Galton  yielded,  "  only  if 
you've  managed  to  stumble  on  to  a  good  thing  over  on 
the  other  side,  you'd  better  get  busy  or  some  fellow 
will  take  it  away  from  you  while  you  are  dream- 
ing." 

So  it  was  that  when  Galton  had  his  vacation  in  July 
the  two  young  men  sat  on  the  beach  at  Waquanesett  on 
the  very  spot  where  long  ago  Galton  had  built  his 
forts  to  repel  invaders.  To-day  the  same  spirit,  not 
content  with  defensive  methods,  was  for  carrying  the 
war  into  the  enemy's  country,  with  the  result  that,  as  a 
man  of  business,  he  was  a  great  success,  aggressive  but 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      81 

politic,  with  his  heart  in  his  work  to  such  an  extent 
that  his  business  was  his  life. 

"  Are  you  going  to  be  content  all  your  days  with 
being  a  purveyor  of  other  men's  work?"  he  asked 
with  the  directness  allowed  between  old  friends. 
"  Aren't  you  ambitious  to  create  something?  " 

"  I'm  afraid,"  Conger  answered,  "  that  I  shall  have 
to  be  content  to  go  on  just  as  I've  begun.  When  you 
come  to  think  of  it,"  he  added,  "  aren't  you  also  a  mere 
purveyor?  Others  build  railroads,  establish  factories, 
found  cities,  combine  giant  industries,  and  you  sell  to 
the  public  the  intangible  evidences  of  their  enterprise. 
Yours  appeals  to  man's  cupidity  and  mine  — " 

"We  are  just  in  time  to  draw  the  proper  distinc- 
tion," a  cheerful  voice  declared  just  behind  them. 
"  Bess  is  dying  to  say  that  one  appeals  to  their  cupidity 
and  the  other  to  their  stupidity." 

Both  men  were  on  their  feet  as  Conger  answered 
Barbara's  sally :  "  That  is  so  near  the  truth  as  almost 
to  be  indiscreet." 

"  Well,  I  knew  that  whatever  I  had  to  say  must  be 
put  in  tabloid  form  and  administered  at  once/'  Barbara 
retorted.  "  The  last  time  I  had  a  chance  to  speak  to 
you  —  which  was  also  the  first  time  —  you  disappeared 
into  thin  air.  And  now  you  have  come  back  an  art 
connoisseur,  and  what  is  more  —  I  have  been  in  New 
York  and  have  seen  the  exhibition  of  Felix  fitron." 

"  Before  Conger  has  a  chance  to  coach  you,"  Galton 
interrupted,  "  let's  have  your  opinion  of  them." 

"  Too  late !  "  she  flung  back.  "  \Ve  went  with  an 
artist,  a  regular  velveteen  jacket,  flowing  hair  and 


82      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

flowing  tie  Frenchman  of  the  Latin  Quarter  and  mid- 
night suppers  and  things.  Only  Monsieur  Beauchamp 
wore  evening  clothes  and  was  bald  —  but  he  had  the 
air  and  the  wicked  fascination.  He  knew  all  about 
Felix  fitron  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave." 

"  To  the  grave?  "  Conger  repeated  in  alarm. 

"  No,  not  really  to  the  grave  —  but  he  told  us  that 
Felix  fitron  was  such  a  worker  and  such  a  harsh  critic 
of  his  own  work  that  for  the  first  twenty  years  of  his 
life  as  a  painter  he  destroyed  every  canvas  as  soon  as 
it  was  finished.  For  a  quarter  of  a  century  that  incom- 
parable genius  starved  in  a  garret.  *  Then  one  day/  to 
quote  Monsieur  Beauchamp's  own  words,  '  he  burst 
forth  upon  the  gaze  of  the  art  loving  world  with  a 
single  picture.  It  was  called  '  The  Cousins  of  Al- 
phonse.' ' 

"  What  a  thrilling  title !  "  Galton  exclaimed. 

"  Perhaps  it  was  —  for  Alphonse,"  Bess  Grayley 
answered,  "  And  what  was  it  like?  A  portrait  of  two 
spinsters  ?  " 

"Mr.  Howe  can  tell  us,"  Barbara  replied;  "doubt- 
less he  saw  it  in  Paris." 

An  instant  Conger  Howe  hesitated,  and  the  puzzled 
look  was  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  .spoke  with  a  warmth 
that  deepened  the  color  in  his  cheeks :  "  I  remember 
it  vividly,  but  it  isn't  easy  to  describe.  It  seems  like 
a  rainy  afternoon  and  two  children  coming  along  the 
seashore  hand  in  hand." 

"Isn't  it  something  like  an  Israels?"  Galton  asked. 

"  Not  the  least  bit,"  Barbara  made  haste  to  say. 
"  Felix  fitron  has  an  atmosphere,  a  certain  or  very  un- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      83 

certain  something  that  makes  you  catch  your  breath 
and  wonder  whether  you  are  seeing  what  is  on  the  can- 
vas or  what  your  imagination  pictures." 

By  this  time  the  four  were  seated  on  the  sand.  The 
tide  was  out,  and  in  huge  -patches  of  grey  and  helio- 
trope and  green  the  sand  flats  lay  bare,  save  where  in 
depressions  the  shallow  water  gleamed  a  pure  sap- 
phire. On  the  still  air  came  the  creak  of  Captain 
Thoph's  ox-cart  on  its  daily  journey  to  the  weirs,  and 
the  knock  of  its  heavy  wheels  in  their  boxes. 

"  And  Monsieur  Beauchamp  said  it  sold  for  a  fabu- 
lous price,"  Barbara  continued.  "  Some  one,  it  seems, 
asked  through  the  press  who  in  all  Paris  owned  a 
Felix  fitron,  and  every  one  was  asking  every  one  else 
what  it  meant,  when  one  solitary  picture,  '  The  Cousins 
of  Alphonse/  was  offered  at  auction.  It  brought  — 
how  much,  Mr.  Howe?  I  don't  want  to  overstate  it." 

"  Ten  thousand  francs,"  Conger  answered,  "  and 
it  has  since  been  sold  for  twice  that  sum.  The  price 
was  only  large  for  the  work  of  an  unknown  painter." 

"  But  think  of  the  man's  passion  for  greatness,  for 
perfection  if  you  will,"  Galton  said,  "  that  was  willing 
to  starve  until  it  accomplished  its  object." 

"  Tell  us,  Mr.  Howe,"  Bess  Grayley  insisted,  "  what 
he  is  like  now  that  he  has  achieved.  'Has  it  spoiled 
him,  and  is  he  satisfied?  " 

"  My  impression  of  him  is  that  he  doesn't  yet  feel 
that  he  has  accomplished  it,"  Conger  answered. 

"  Isn't  he  frightfully  old  —  sort  of  like  Titian  in  his 
last  days?  " 

"It  may  seem  strange  to  you,  but  somehow  you 


84      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

don't  think  anything  about  his  age  when  you  are  with 
him.  Of  course  you  can  see  at  a  glance  that  he  isn't 
so  young  as  —  he  used  to  be,  but  I  forgot  how  old 
he  was  in  my  desire  to  get  the  sale  of  his  pictures." 

"  Your  interest  in  him,  after  all,  Mr.  Howe,  was 
chiefly  mer  —  cantile,  wasn't  it?"  Barbara  modified 
the  sting  in  this  remark  by  the  charming  smile  with 
which  she  uttered  it.  Only  Bess  Grayley  suspected 
that  it  was  the  beginning  of  an  effort  to  subdue  this 
strange  specimen,  and  bring  him  into  line  with  her 
many  admirers.  If  such  was  her  intention  Conger 
Howe  did  not  so  far  gratify  her  as  to  betray  any  an- 
noyance. 

"  I  shouldn't  like  to  admit,"  he  said,  "  that  my  inter- 
est in  art  was  chiefly  for  the  money  I  get  out  of  it,  but 
that  counts  with  me,  I  grant  you  that.  I  am  at  present 
self-supporting.  That  means  to  me  more  than  you 
can  possibly  imagine." 

"  Monsieur  Beauchamp,"  Barbara  rejoined,  "  knows 
him  intimately,  knew  him  when  he  was  painting  and 
destroying,  before  he  had,  as  Monsieur  Beauchamp 
puts  it,  scaled  the  heights.  And  he  says  it  is  the  soul 
of  Felix  fitron  that  grips  you  in  his  pictures.  I  tried 
to  say  something  about  Claude  Monet  — '  Bah ! '  he 
shouted,  '  Monet  reveals  himself  behind  a  thin  veil  of 
whitewash.  Do  you  know  the  breeze,  the  motion,  the 
life  and  the  coloring  that  is  Sorolla?  Do  you  know, 
also,  Manet,  so  unlike  either?  In  Felix  fitron  you 
have  these  three  combined,  and  —  what,  I  ask  you  as  a 
fair  observer,  what  have  you  in  the  sculpture  of 
Rodin  ?  '  And  when  I  hesitated  for  words,  and  finally 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      85 

said  I  couldn't  describe  it,  he  went  into  ecstasies  and 
explained : 

"  '  No,  you  cannot  describe  it.  That  too  is  in  Felix 
fitron.  But  I  tell  you,  young  lady,  it  is  genius,  it  is 
mind  and  soul,  and  hand  co-ordinating.'  ' 

"  Critics  have  said  that  his  hand  is  not  nearly  so 
clever  as  his  heart,"  Conger  confessed,  "  that  his  draw- 
ing is  exceedingly  faulty.  I  am  glad  to  hear  what  your 
Monsieur  Beauchamp  says  because  I  do  not  wish  to 
see  his  work  belittled  —  and  the  price  with  it.  Wealth, 
after  all,  is  desirable  because  it  is  a  means  to  power." 

"Are  you  particularly  desirous  of  power?"  Bar- 
bara asked. 

"  It  is  the  one  great  object  of  human  existence,"  he 
answered. 

Barbara  pondered  this  a  moment;  then  she  said: 
"Yes,  I  never  thought  of  it  in  just  that  way  before; 
but  I  think  you  are  right.  Wealth,  beauty,  strength, 
intellect,  cunning,  or  charm  —  we  value  all  of  them  in 
proportion  as  they  bring  us  power." 

As  they  walked  back  over  the  winding  road  that  led 
up  to  the  village  Bess  Grayley  and  Galton  were  a 
little  in  advance  of  the  other  two. 

"  It  strikes  me/'  Bess  said,  "  that  a  man  must  be 
queerly  constituted  who  is  content  to  be  a  dealer  all  his 
life  in  other  people's  art." 

"  Conger  isn't  like  other  people,"  Galton  answered. 
"  With  him  this  is  merely  the  means  to  a  coveted  end." 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  day  had  been  hot,  there  was  no  denying  it ;  the 
thermometer  outside  the  store  bore  shocking  testimony 
to  it,  and  the  little  group  gathered  on  the  platform  to 
wait  for  the  mail  discussed  it  broadly  and  narrowly, 
pro  and  con,  by  and  large.  In  fact,  so  thoroughly  did 
they  discuss  it  that  the  subject  was  quite  exhausted  be- 
fore the  mail  carrier  arrived,  and  he  was  only  an  hour 
late. 

"  It  seems  to  be  the  unanimous  opinion,"  Galton  re- 
marked to  the  doctor,  "  that  this  is  a  hot  day." 

"  Moreover,"  Dr.  Boon  added,  "  it  seems  always  to 
surprise,  to  astound,  my  good  fellow  townsmen  that  we 
should  encounter  warm  weather  in  summer."  And 
the  fat  little  old  gentleman  mopped  his  bald  head  with 
a  very  large  handkerchief.  The  doctor's  smooth- 
shaven,  florid  face  was  even  redder  than  usual,  and  his 
fringe  of  white  hair  was  damp,  but,  unlike  the  sea 
lawyers  whose  dolorous  lamentations  filled  the  air  and 
added  to  its  heat,  the  doctor  had  been  working. 

"  Seen  you  agoin'  down  our  rud  last  night,  Doctor," 
one  of  them  said;  "  Cy  Small's  woman,  I  s'pose. 
'Bout  time,  I  should  think.  Been  expectin'  for  more'n 
three  weeks." 

The  speaker  was  a  long,  lean  individual  with  bottle 
shoulders  and  an  alarming  way  of  protruding  through 

86 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      87 

his  clothes  at  the  extremities.  An  unweeded  beard 
flourished  in  rank  profusion  on  his  face  and  neck,  and 
his  whole  appearance  was  such  as  nature  had  provided 
without  the  intervention  of  art  or  the  petty  exactions 
of  fashion. 

"  Enoch,"  the  doctor  said,  with  an  indulgent  smile, 
"  as  the  good  Lord's  agent  I  was  taking  to  the  Smalls 
an  unmitigated  blessing,  their  thirteenth  child.  This 
one  was  a  twelve-pound  son  who  for  eight  mortal  hours 
contested  his  mother's  right  to  live.  But  in  the  end 
she  won,  and  now  both  are  doing  nicely." 

"What  supports  that  family?"  Galton  asked. 
"  Ever  since  I  can  remember,  Cy  has  belonged  to  that 
group  that  Cap'n  Thoph  describes  as  '  lookin'  for 
work  —  not  so's  they  can  find  it  but  so's  they  can 
avoid  it.'  " 

"  The  most  prominent  thing  in  Cy  Small's  house," 
the  doctor  answered,  "  is  a  framed  motto,  done  in 
worsted  on  cardboard,  that  hangs  over  the  fireplace: 
'  The  Lord  Will  Provide.'  I've  always  wanted  to 
write  '  What?  '  after  it,  but  the  Smalls  look  upon  that 
motto  as  something  sacred.  Of  course  you  know 
who's  keeping  them  and  the  rest  of  the  derelicts  going, 
this  summer." 

"Who  is  it?"  Galton  asked. 

"  I  thought  you  knew.  It's  your  friend,  Conger 
Howe.  Wrote  a  note  to  the  Se-lectmen  saying  that 
people  that  were  hungry  appealed  particularly  to  him, 
and  please  say  nothing  about  it,  but  look  after  some  of 
them,  and  enclosing  five  hundred  dollars." 

"  Good  Lord !     He  can't  afford  to  do  it.     I  happen 


88      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

to  know,"  Galton  exclaimed;  "but  what's  the  use? 
You  couldn't  hold  Conger  if  he  had  the  notion  in  his 
head.  So,  you  see  your  text  really  justifies  itself,  after 
all." 

"  Good !  "  Dr.  Doon  cried ;  "  then  the  proper  ending 
of  it  in  reply  to  my  '  what?  '  is :  '  Heathen  to  pay  the 
bills/  " 

"  So  you  know  that  also,  doctor?" 

"  He  took  particular  pains  to  explain  it  to  the 
board,"  the  doctor  said,  looking  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  climbed  into  his  gig. 

In  the  late  afternoon  of  that  same  day,  just  as  the 
birds  came  out  from  mysterious  hiding  to  people  the 
trees  again  with  family  life  and  songs  and  antiphonal 
twitterings;  and  just  as  the  many  roadside  flowers 
decided  not  to  die  but  to  hold  out  their  cups  once  more 
for  another  draught  of  the  refreshing  dew ;  just  before 
the  sun  dipped  towards  his  cool  evening  plunge  in  the 
bay  over  by  the  Plymouth  shore,  Barbara  Wrayton's 
runabout  shot  out  from  quiet  Waquanesett  and  romped 
joyously  eastward  over  the  smooth,  hard  road  towards 
Provincetown.  Barbara  herself  was  at  the  wheel,  and 
beside  her  Conger  Howe,  and  because  the  road  was 
good,  though  narrow,  and  because  the  car  was  power- 
ful and  swift,  and  because  life  was  good,  and  youth 
loves  excitement  and  danger  —  they  went  altogether 
too  fast.  By  the  church  and  the  schoolhouse,  by  the 
inn  and  the  scattering  farms  strung  out  for  miles  along 
the  state  highway,  they  raced,  regardless  of  the  sign- 
boards that  warned  of  "  School  Children  "  and  "  Cross- 
roads "  and  "  Dangerous  Curves."  At  each  of  these, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      89 

Barbara's  horn  lifted  up  its  brazen  voice  in  timely  and 
uncompromising  warning;  and  the  warning  was 
heeded,  and  the  car  flew  on. 

At  length  they  turned  off  into  a  pleasant  cross-road 
where  was  a  broad  view  of  the  mighty  Atlantic,  an 
unobstructed  view  to  the  east  as  far  as  Portugal  ex- 
cept for  the  curve  of  the  earth's  surface.  And  here 
they  stopped  and  Barbara  sitting  back  at  her  ease  said : 
"  I  told  you  I  had  a  special  reason  for  inviting  you.  I 
want  your  advice.  Why  I  come  to  you  is  a  mystery 
even  to  myself;  but  something  impels  me  to  trust  you 
with  a  secret.  I  feel  that  you  will  advise  me  honestly." 

"  Very  well,"  said  her  guest,  "  I  will  try  to  be  as 
honest  and  intelligent  as  I  can." 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  began,  "  that  a  woman  should 
be  content  to  fritter  away  her  time  in  society  and  — 
just  the  little  nothings  of  home  life?  Don't  you  think 
it  gets  on  their  nerves  after  a  while?  " 

Conger  laughed :     "  I've  seen  proof  of  that." 

"  Well,"  she  went  on,  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
create  something." 

"  Out  of  what?  "  he  asked.  "  I  take  it  you  don't 
mean  the  something  out  of  nothing  sort.  That  can 
only  be  done  in  theology,  I  believe." 

"  You  speak  as  though  you  thought  I  lacked  every 
sort  of  material." 

"  Material  isn't  everything,"  he  retorted.  "  Ability 
to  transform  the  material  into  something  else  is  nec- 
essary also."  He  paused,  not  even  noticing  the  flush 
that  spread  over  her  lovely  features.  Lovely  she  was ; 
he  had  thought,  even  as  he  spoke,  that  he  had  never 


90      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

seen  a  lovelier  woman.  But  she  was  used  to  a  certain 
deference  that  her  beauty  won  her.  This  man  alone 
seemed  to  treat  her  exactly  as  he  would  have  treated 
another  man.  When  a  girl  asks  for  frankness  she 
means  —  well,  she  doesn't  mean  brutal  frankness. 

"  And  couldn't  you  credit  me  with  material  and 
ability  to  use  it?  "  she  inquired. 

"  That  would  be  a  very  broad  negation,"  he  said. 
"  In  what  field  do  you  wish  to  create  ?  Not  fancy 
work,  I  take  it." 

"  You  are  evidently  trying  to  be  disagreeable,"  she 
flung  back. 

"  No,  truly  I  am  not.  I  may  have  been  too  frank, 
but  I  cannot  seem  to  imagine  you  as  a  composer,  for 
example.  You  play  very  prettily,  but  — " 

"  It  isn't  music,"  she  corrected,  hoping  to  help  him 
towards  her  secret.  "  I  have  been  writing  —  short 
stories,  and  —  I  haven't  told  any  one  about  it,  but 
somehow  I  thought  you  would  understand." 

"  Have  you  submitted  any  —  to  publishers  ?  "  he 
inquired. 

"  No,  but  I  have  two  ready  to  submit.  The  best  is 
called  '  The  Frozen  Flame.' ' 

"  I  see,"  he  said;  "  she  didn't  care  for  him." 

"  Who  told  you  that  ?  "  she  asked,  in  na'ive  surprise. 

"Who  told  me?"  he  repeated.  "Your  title. 
What  is  the  story  about?  " 

"  Why,  you've  rather  taken  the  heart  out  of  it ;  it's 
about  a  perfectly  beautiful  girl,  and  a  man  who  was  a 
sort  of  Otho  Gushing  god  physically,  and  with  a  soul 
to  back  it  up." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      91 

"  Then,  why  didn't  she  love  him  ?  "  he  asked. 

"How  could  you  justify  your  title  if  she  had? 
Don't  you  see?  I  just  had  to  make  her  indifferent  to 
him." 

"  I'm  not  convinced,"  Conger  said,  prepared  to 
argue  the  question. 

"  That's  just  why  I  brought  it,"  Barbara  exclaimed, 
and  triumphantly  drew  forth  the  manuscript.  For 
ten  minutes  while  he  read  it  Barbara  pretended  to  gaze 
at  the  ocean,  indifferent  to  "  The  Frozen  Flame  "  and 
to  Conger's  opinion.  But  his  "  Hm !  "  as  he  handed 
it  back  lacked  the  glowing  enthusiasm  for  which  she 
had  been  fully  prepared.  However,  having  put  her 
hand  to  the  literary  plow  she  would  not  look  back. 

"  I  want  your  candid  opinion,"  she  said  and  mois- 
tened her  lips.  Some  horrid  premonition  made  them 
dry. 

"  There  isn't  one  idea  in  it,"  he  replied,  "  that  you 
haven't  cribbed  from  some  one  else.  No!  No!  I 
don't  think  you  meant  to,  but  that's  what  we  are 
mostly;  when  we  try  to  originate  we  simply  work  our 
memory  and  fancy  it's  invention.  You  will  never  do 
anything  at  story-writing." 

A  mile  off  shore,  beyond  the  sand-bars,  a  tug  was 
steaming  north  to  round  the  cape  with  her  long  tow  of 
coal  barges  strung  out  far  behind  her.  Some  fisher- 
men with  white  sails  set  were  beating  out  to  get  well 
off  shore  before  sunset.  Down  on  the  horizon  a  long 
smudge  of  smoke  told  where  the  Savannah  boat  was 
laying  her  course  for  the  far  south.  And  on  the  long 
beach  the  heavy  waves  came  breaking  in  dull  thunder, 


92 

then  rushed  back  with  their  perilous  undertow.  How 
different  even  on  a  fair  day  this  outside  ocean  from  the 
peaceful  bay  so  near  it ! 

Barbara  had  not  spoken  since  Conger  had  so  frankly 
stated  his  opinion.  The  engine,  mysteriously  con- 
sulted, had  decided  it  was  time  to  go  home.  The  big 
car  backed  and  turned,  and  was  silently  racing  back  to 
Waquanesett,  but  its  driver  spoke  not  a  word.  Once 
more  the  scattered  farms,  cows  on  their  way  home 
confidently  daring  to  share  the  narrow  road  with  this 
speeding  monster,  the  signs  warning  to  slow  down  to 
eight  miles.  Outraged  beauty  at  the  wheel  did  not 
even  sound  her  warning  horn.  She  bit  her  lip  till  it 
bled,  but  the  indicator  before  her  never  fell  below 
forty,  and  the  pace  at  that  seemed  slow  to  her. 

"  I  brought  it  on  myself,"  she  thought,  "  why  did  I 
give  him  the  chance?" 

To  him  she  said  just  as  they  reached  home : 

"  I  might  have  known  that  a  person  whose  ambition 
was  satisfied  by  selling  other  people's  work  wouldn't 
care  for  originality  in  others." 

"  Quite  likely  you're  right,"  he  said  so  placidly  that 
it  only  made  her  anger  hotter. 

But  it  had  never  occurred  to  Conger  Howe,  brought 
up  by  Ya-Tzu,  honoring  the  truth  above  all  else,  to 
cheat  Barbara  into  believing  herself  gifted  when  he 
was  sure  that  she  was  not.  Nevertheless,  Conger 
knew  that  he  was  in  disfavor  if  not  disgrace,  and  the 
ways  of  women  seemed  to  him  past  the  power  of  man 
to  fathom. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      93 

Galton  called  on  her  in  the  evening  and  found  her 
quiet  and  moody.  Why  was  this  Conger  Howe  dif- 
ferent from  all  other  men  ?  Did  he  see  any  difference 
in  looks,  for  instance,  between  her  and  some  old  Portu- 
guese berry-picker?  And  if  he  was  so  stupid,  why 
did  she  care?  "Do  I  care  —  what  he  thinks?"  she 
asked  herself.  "  Why,  I  must  admit  I  do.  I  care  to 
make  him  treat  me  as  though  he  knew  that  I  wasn't 
seventy-five  anyway." 

Here  was  Galton  to  console  her  pride.  He  could 
be  depended  upon ;  he  criticised  very  frankly,  said  aw- 
ful things  to  her  —  but  never  things  to  make  her  feel 
small  and  silly.  She  would  confide  her  secret  to  Gal- 
ton. The  rest  of  the  family  sat  out  on  the  piazza,  to 
enjoy  the  cool  of  the  evening,  so  they  had  the  living- 
room  to  themselves.  He  insisted  that  she  read  it 
aloud,  and  when  she  had  finished  he  seized  both  her 
hands  in  his.  "  Barbara,"  he  said,  "  it's  wonderful;  I 
can  hardly  believe  it's  all  you.  Why,  this  is  genius! 
I've  never  heard  anything  more  original  or  more  thor- 
oughly true  to  life.  And  your  description  of  the  news- 
boy's death  —  absolutely  your  own,  and  so  beautifully 
done  that  I  couldn't  keep  the  tears  back." 

"  It  isn't  like  Dickens's  death  of  the  crossing 
sweeper,  is  it,  Galton?" 

"  Why,  I've  forgotten  that,  but  I  don't  believe 
Dickens  ever  wrote  anything  so  good,  so  thoroughly 
true  to  life.  You  see  Dickens  exaggerated,  but  this 
—  why,  you  have  a  career  before  you." 

But  after  Galton  had  gone,  when  she  sat  before  her 


94      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

mirror  braiding  her  hair,  she  stopped  short,  looking 
into  her  own  eyes.  "  I  wonder,"  she  thought, — "  is 
that  stolen  from  Dickens  ?  And  is  it  possible  that  that 
odious  Conger  Howe  is  partly  right?  " 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  No  one  objects  to  a  man's  taking  what  exercise 
he  wishes,"  Barbara  said  to  Bess  Grayley,  as  the  two 
stood  one  day  looking  down  the  road  at  the  rapidly 
retreating  back  of  Conger  Howe,  "  but  why  on  earth 
should  a  gentleman,  when  others  of  his  class  are  play- 
ing golf  or  tennis,  prefer  to  come  out  on  the  public 
road,  bareheaded  and  barefooted,  and  trot  for  miles 
like  a  lost  dog !  " 

"  And  why  the  blue  overalls?  "  Bess  added.  "  I'll 
tell  you,  Barbara.  The  man  is  wrong  in  his  head. 
It's  something  to  do  with  his  early  life  in  China  — 
sunstroke  probably." 

"  No,  Bess,  it  has  to  do  with  his  boyhood  in  China, 
but  the  worst  of  it  is  he  is  outrageously  sane.  He  does 
it  because  he  has  formed  the  habit  and  is  unwilling  to 
give  it  up.  I  wonder  if  he  knows  what  a  perfect  guy 
he  is." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  in  his  gardening  costume?" 
Bess  asked.  "  Well,"  as  Barbara  shook  her  head,  "  he 
must  have  got  his  model  for  that  from  the  garden  of 
Eden." 

"  You  surely  don't  mean  — "  Barbara  gasped. 

"  Almost.  As  true  as  I  live  he  strips  to  the  waist. 
Looks  like  an  Indian.  It's  simply  outrageous.  I 
watch  him  by  the  hour  from  my  back  window." 

95 


96      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  You  do !  "  Barbara  exclaimed,  and  Bess,  seeing 
that  she  had  told  more  than  she  meant  to  tell,  made 
haste  to  shift  her  ground. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  about  his  studio  down  at  the 
shore  in  the  Myrick's  old  barn.  Studio?  It's  a  mere 
bluff,  his  work." 

"  I  suppose  it  is,"  Barbara  assented,  "  but  then,  he 
can  never  become  an  artist  without  trying." 

"  Here  comes  his  friend,"  Bess  said;  "  do  you  know 
Cap'n  Thoph's  daughter?" 

Her  head  was  down  as  though  she  studied  the  road, 
and  it  was  almost  hidden  under  a  blue  and  white  ging- 
ham sunbonnet,  the  strings  of  which  hung  untied, 
revealing  a  dark  face  of  uncommon  beauty  and  stray 
wisps  of  jet  black  hair.  Her  dress,  which  was  very 
short,  was  of  the  same  material  as  her  bonnet.  Her 
feet  were  bare,  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  tin  pail 
filled  to  the  top  with  red  currants.  As  she  passed  the 
two  young  ladies  her  eyes  came  up  to  meet  theirs,  then 
finding  no  welcome  scowled  and  watched  the  road 
again. 

"  Long  and  lean  and  dark  and  sinewy,  like  a 
panther,"  Barbara  whispered.  "  She  must  be  eight- 
een. She's  pretty.  Why  haven't  I  ever  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  remember  half  a  dozen  years  ago  the 
child  that  got  carried  out  in  the  sailboat  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  mean  playing  in  it  and  the  tide  came  in 
and  carried  her  off  shore?  Wasn't  Galton  brave  and 
modest  about  that !  How  he  swam  out  and  rescued  her 
and  said  it  was  nothing !  Is  this  that  child  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  the  one,  and  you  know  her  next  ship- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      97 

wreck  was  more  serious."  Then  to  Barbara's  ques- 
tioning look  she  explained :  "  Had  a  baby  a  year  ago. 
Dr.  Doon  thought  she  was  going  to  die,  and  told  her 
so,  but  her  lips  were  sealed.  Not  a  word  as  to  the 
father;  obstinate  as  a  mule." 

"  Good  for  her !  "  Barbara  said,  whereupon  Bess, 
who  had  been  prepared  to  call  the  girl  a  stiff-necked 
viper,  swung  over  sufficiently  to  allow : 

"  There  are  worse  sinners  than  Relief  Snow." 

Barbara  watched  the  girl,  so  silently,  so  easily,  glid- 
ing over  the  road,  and  when  she  had  disappeared: 
"  And  the  baby  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  it  was  good  enough  to  die.  They  said  Cap'n 
Thoph  was  in  a  state  of  mind,  how  to  reconcile  that 
baby  with  his  position  as  deacon  in  the  Baptist 
Church." 

"  Relief  Snow,"  Barbara  repeated,  "  and  what  did 
you  call  her?  Conger  Howe's  friend?" 

"  Now,  my  dear,"  Miss  Grayley  laughed  derisively, 
"  don't  pretend  that  you  haven't  heard !  " 

"  Conger  Howe  hasn't  been  in  Waquanesett  for 
years  till  this  summer.  It  couldn't  have  been  — " 

"  This  friendship,"  Bess  interrupted,  "  has  to  do 
with  the  present.  It  began  this  summer.  She  goes 
down  to  Myrick's  barn  every  blessed  day.  Model, 
you  see.  That's  where  the  artist  comes  in.  He's  just 
enough  of  an  artist  to  call  his  girl  friends  models. 
Well,  Relief  Snow  is  just  as  near  being  a  model  as  he 
is  to  an  artist.  There's  that  to  be  said  in  her  favor." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  while  Barbara  turned  this 
bit  of  gossip  over  in  her  mind.  They  had  come  to  the 


98      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

little  common  in  front  of  the  Wraytons'  house  famil- 
iarly called  from  its  shape  "  The  Egg." 

At  the  gate  Barbara  spoke : 

"  Why  are  you  so  hard  on  this  girl  ?  I  don't  like 
Conger  Howe  any  more  than  you  do,  but — " 

Bess  Grayley  caught  her  up  here: 

"Hard  on  her!  Self-satisfied  cat,  with  her  quiet, 
purring  voice  and  her  black  hair  and  creepy  ways! 
Did  you  notice  her  legs?  Do  you  think  she  just  hap- 
pens to  wear  short  skirts?  Not  much!  He's  told 
her  they're  shapely  so  she  flaunts  them  in  the  faces  of 
decent  people." 

"  That's  silly,  Bess.  If  she  happens  to  have  pretty 
legs  it  needn't  make  you  jealous  of  a  poor  little  coun- 
try girl." 

Without  so  much  as  a  nod  or  a  look  Miss  Grayley 
swallowed  her  medicine  and  went  her  own  way,  but 
her  face  was  scarlet  and  a  dangerous  glint  like  steel 
shone  in  her  eyes.  Miss  Grayley's  temper  was  pecu- 
liarly sensitive  to  the  shafts  of  ridicule.  She  knew 
that  she  was  pretty,  and  was  unconsciously  in  the 
habit  of  assuming  that  her  own  measurements  were 
the  standards  of  symmetry.  Therefore,  when  the  two 
friends  met  again  later  in  the  day  she  was  prepared 
to  argue  the  point. 

"  It  may  strike  you  as  petty,"  she  began  half  apolo- 
getically, "  but  it  is  more  serious  than  you  think  —  I 
mean  your  slur  about  slender  legs." 

"  I  didn't  make  any  such  distinction,  Bess.  I 
merely  stated  that,  when  it  comes  to  shape,  Relief 
Snow  needn't  fear  comparisons." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      99 

"  Oh !  I  thought  you  made  a  mean  remark  about 
me." 

The  subject  of  this  discussion  left  her  currants  at  the 
side  door  of  the  inn;  then  took  the  short  cut  across 
the  fields  to  the  shore,  by  Bassett's  Pond,  deep,  dark, 
nestling  in  the  hollow  of  a  moraine;  over  the  long, 
sharp  beach  grass  growing  rank  in  the  white  sand; 
crushing  with  her  bare,  brown  feet  the  soft  green  moss 
under  the  pine  trees ;  then  out  on  the  high  bluff  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  beach.  Here  was  Myrick's  barn, 
a  tumble-down  old  building,  no  two  of  its  sides  parallel, 
and  with  a  roof  that  boastfully  displayed  here  and 
there  a  few  hand-made  shingles  to  prove  that  My- 
rick's barn,  had  once  been  an  object  of  pride  to  its 
owner. 

The  big  doors  facing  the  sea  were  wide  open.  An 
easel  fronted  the  light,  and  before  it  a  man  was  work- 
ing in  frantic  haste  to  transfer  to  the  canvas  those 
wonderful  lights  and  shades,  those  soft  blendings  of 
color,  before  yonder  clouds  should  come  across  the 
sun,  and  all  the  glory  and  the  subtlety  should  fade 
and  disappear. 

He  wore  a  white  shirt  and  white  trousers  badly 
stained,  and  his  feet  were  bare  and  brown  as  the 
girl's. 

Without  glancing  up  from  his  work,  he  greeted  her 
with :  "  Hello !  Just  in  time,  Rill ;  take  the  same 
pose  —  right  there  on  the  bank  where  you  were  yes- 
terday." And,  as  she  got  to  her  place :  "  That's  good ! 
Now,  without  turning  your  head,  look  right  at  me. 
Perfect!" 


ioo      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Motionless  as  the  bank  itself,  yet  graceful  as  the 
butterfly  that  perches  on  the  petal  of  a  flower,  she 
stood,  half  facing  him.  No  wonder  the  artist  in  him 
cried  "  Perfect."  But  did  the  man  in  him  see  what 
lay  behind  those  dark  eyes  with  which  she  obeyed  his 
bidding?  She  was  looking  directly  into  his  face;  and 
all  of  the  worship,  the  devotion,  the  self-effacing  love 
with  which  the  dog  gazes  into  the  eyes  of  his  master, 
shone  in  her  eyes,  spoke  through  them,  implored  him 
to  listen  to  their  appeal. 

Twenty  minutes  later  the  light  had  changed;  the 
delicate  tints  had  been  replaced  by  the  gorgeous  glory 
of  the  sunset,  and  Conger  Howe  no  longer  hurried  to 
catch  the  fugitive  tones  and  imitate  them  with  his 
brush. 

"  You  pose  well,"  he  said ;  "  why  does  every  one 
call  you  'Rill'?" 

"  Short  for  Relief,"  she  said,  and  uninvited  took  a 
seat  beside  him  on  the  old  bench  that  once  for  genera- 
tions was  a  pew  in  the  old  Methodist  Meeting-house. 

"Say,  why  do  you  like  to  paint  me?"  she  asked, 
hoping  to  draw  the  answer  that  would  repay  her  far 
better  than  the  dollar  an  hour  which  his  princely  lib- 
erality allowed  her. 

"  You  have  the  kind  of  a  look  that  I  want  to  fit  this 
picture.  You  go  well  with  the  sea  and  the  shore  and 
the  gulls — "  did  Conger  see  the  girl's  look  of  disap- 
pointment? If  he  did  he  might  well  have  been  grati- 
fied at  the  change  which  flashed  into  her  face  when  he 
added  — "  and  me." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       101 

"Do  I  go  well  with  you?"  She  must  hear  him 
say  it  over  again. 

"  I  think  we  get  on  very  well  indeed,"  he  answered. 
"  You're  always  prompt,  never  kick  if  I  keep  you  over 
time.  And,  as  for  me,  I  never  beat  you — " 

"  Sometimes  I  wish  you  would,"  she  whispered. 

"  Now,  why  did  you  say  a  thing  like  that  ?  "  he  de- 
manded. "  You  know  very  well  you  don't  mean  any- 
thing of  the  sort." 

At  that  the  girl  got  up  without  answering  him,  and 
busied  herself  putting  things  to  rights.  The  canvases 
had  to  be  stood  carefully  against  the  wall  and  covered 
with  a  rubber  blanket,  for  the  roof  had  proved  itself 
a  mere  name,  and  a  traitor  in  bad  weather.  When  all 
was  arranged  to  her  satisfaction  she  said,  "  Good-by, 
Mr.  Kangeroo,"  which  was  her  pleasantry  for  his 
name,  and  back  she  went  over  the  soft  moss,  through 
the  cutting  beach  grass,  across  the  rolling  fields,  by 
Bassett's  Pond,  and  so  down  a  wood-road  that  ended 
abruptly  in  her  father's  yard. 

Cap'n  Thoph  was  near  the  back  door,  splitting  wood 
for  his  wife's  stove.  "  You  can't  get  supper  and  make 
tea  out  o'  nothin',"  Mrs.  Snow  had  called  out  the  door, 
and  Cap'n  Thoph  called  back,  "  I  'low  that's  good 
reasoning  Mercy,"  and  took  the  hint. 

Relief  was  the  youngest  of  four  children.  "  Gene," 
the  oldest,  was  a  great  help  to  his  father.  His  full 
name  was  Genesis,  because  he  came  first.  Mrs.  Snow 
thought  all  names  should  come  from  the  Bible.  On 
naming  her  second  son  she  skipped  from,  Genesis  to 


102      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Leviticus  because  Levi  sounded  so  aristocratic.  But 
when  Mary  M.  was  born  —  that  was  Relief's  older 
sister  —  Mrs.  Snow  erred  slightly  in  judgment,  for  at 
the  christening,  when  the  Reverend  Driggs  commanded 
that  she  name  this  child,  Mrs.  Snow,  recently  risen 
from  a  bed  of  pain,  announced:  "  Mary  Magdalen." 
Somebody  in  the  congregation  snickered  and  the  Rev- 
erend Driggs  whispered  something  to  Mrs.  Snow, 
whereupon  the  child  was  christened  Mary  M.,  and 
Mary  M.  she  was  called  even  by  those  gossips  who 
were  mean  enough  to  say  that  Mercy  Snow  had  "  bet- 
ter 'a'  saved  that  name  for  her  last  one." 

"Where  you  been?"  Cap'n  Snow  demanded, 
sternly,  fixing  his  daughter  with  a  look  of  righteous 
scorn. 

"  Earning  money,"  Relief  answered,  kicking  away 
some  chips  that  lay  in  her  path. 

"Do  you  call  that  earning  money?"  the  old  man 
shouted. 

"Yes,  I  do!"  she  flung  back.  "And  he  says  it's 
just  as  high-toned  a  way  to  earn  money  as  —  as  —  as 
there  is." 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  somethin',"  her  father  said,  lay- 
ing aside  his  axe  and  coming  over  to  where  she  stood : 
"  If  you  disgrace  Mother  an'  me  again,  I'll  turn  ye 
out  o'  house  an'  home.  Understand  that?" 

Relief  didn't  answer  him,  and  when  she  went  into 
the  kitchen  her  mother  only  said: 

"  Get  on  yer  apron,  Rill,  and  warm  up  them  beans. 
Father's  hungry  and  wants  fillin'  up." 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Conger  Howe,  left  alone,  stood  in  the  wide  door- 
way and  looked  out  over  the  restful  scene  that  spread 
north  and  east  and  west  before  him.  The  bay  had 
nearly  emptied  its  tide;  long  white  rows  of  gulls  sat 
on  the  sand-bars  already  out  of  water,  and  waited. 
Half  a  dozen  huge  heron  flew  over  them,  flapping  their 
heavy  wings  as  they  squawked  a  challenge  to  the  flock 
below  them.  With  a  great  flutter  the  graceful  gulls 
rose  and  circled  in  a  cloud,  then  settled  down  again 
satisfied  with  their  demonstration  of  superior  grace 
and  numbers.  And  Conger  Howe,  whose  eyes  fol- 
lowed these  scavengers  of  the  flats,  had  gone  back  in 
his  thoughts  to  the  varied  bird  life  of  China  —  the 
quail  and  pheasant  and  grouse  and  partridge,  the  end- 
less variety  of  smaller  birds.  Once  more  he  saw  him- 
self, a  little  half-naked  urchin,  scolding  back  at  a  mag- 
pie in  the  Rat's  garden.  He  saw  the  neighbors  who 
daily  carried  their  catbirds  out  for  an  airing,  either  in 
cages  or  tied  by  a  string  about  the  legs.  And  he  re- 
called the  shock  when  he  learned  that  the  object  was 
not  kindness  to  the  bird,  but  that  the  sight  of  its  free 
fellows  might  encourage  the  poor,  deluded  captive  for 
several  days  to  sing. 

"  Nothing  is  here  so  green,"  he  thought,  "  as  the 
young  blades  of  rice  in  the  paddies.  Here  is  no  sub- 
stitute for  the  wonderful  bamboo  which  at  six  months 

103 


104      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

gives  us  a  strong  light  pole  for  every  sort  of  use  — 
gives  us  —  us  ?  I  had  almost  forgotten  again  —  I  am 
not  Chinese;  I  am  an  American  citizen.  One  gains, 
oh  yes,  so  much,  so  very  much !  But  it  is  not  all  gain ; 
one  also  gives  up  some  things.  How  I  should  love 
just  now  to  paint  one  of  those  circular  threshing  floors 
along  the  banks  of  the  Yangtze-Kiang,  and  the  stone 
rice  mill  slowly  turned  by  the  patient,  plodding  buffalo, 
treading  his  eternal  circle!  Poor  buffalo!  I  think  I 
should  leave  him  out  of  the  picture,  because  of  that 
eternal  circle  and  his  blindfolded  eyes.  There's  no 
such  cruelty  in  this  land.  And  I'd  paint  the  fishermen 
in  their  coats  of  thatch,  squatting  to  watch  their  nets 
spread  in  a  wide,  graceful  V  on  the  long  bamboo  poles, 
and  raised  or  lowered  by  that  ingenious  pulley.  Yes, 
I'd  choose  one  who  squatted  by  the  river's  edge  where 
the  bank  rose  steep  and  high  behind  him  — " 

"  Good  afternoon !  "  said  a  cheerful  voice  that  in- 
terrupted this  soliloquy.  "  I  just  thought  I'd  see  for 
myself  this  mysterious  workshop  and  its  artistic  tenant. 
May  I  come  in  ?  " 

Miss  Grayley  had  dressed  with  more  than  usual 
care,  if  a  white  cloth  suit,  a  big  pink  hat  and  pink 
sunshade  to  match  her  pink  stockings  might  be  held  as 
witnesses.  Such  was  Conger's  impression,  followed 
at  once  by  the  thought  that  the  right  shade  of  blue 
would  have  been  far  more  becoming  to  her  than  pink. 

"  You  may  come  in  if  you  wish,"  he  said,  "  but  there 
is  really  nothing  at  all  to  see.  I  haven't  fixed  up  this 
old  barn  much  beyond  arranging  for  light  and  a  place 
to  sit.  It's  reasonably  clean  — ." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      105 

"  But  I  came  to  see  what  you  are  doing.  I  want  to 
see  some  of  your  work." 

"  Oh !  "  he  said  a  little  embarrassed.  "  You  are, 
then,  curious  ?  " 

She  found  a  seat  on  what  was  once  the  Myrick's 
grain  box,  stood  her  parasol  beside  her,  folded  her 
hands  comfortably  in  her  lap,  stuck  out  her  pretty 
white  shoes  and  a  certain  amount  of  the  pink  stockings 
before  she  answered: 

"It  isn't  exactly  curiosity;  it's  interest  rather;  in- 
terest in  the  business  you  have  chosen.  I  like  your 
spirit,  trying  to  make  yourself  an  artist,  too.  You  see 
it's  interest,  after  all,  in  you." 

"  That's  very  good  of  you,"  he  replied,  still  standing 
in  the  doorway  where  she  had  found  him. 

"  Well  ?  "  she  continued.  "  Aren't  you  going  to 
meet  me  half  way?  " 

"Where  is  half  way?"  he  asked.  "You  wanted 
to  see  my  work?  Well,  this  is  it:  studying  the  charm 
of  sea  and  sky,  letting  it  soak  into  the  very  fibre  of  me. 
It  need  not  be  uttered ;  it  may  never  be  expressed  just 
as  it  is,  but  if  I  absorb  it,  it  will  some  day  reappear 
transmuted,  unrecognizable  perhaps.  But  that  is  the 
value  of  the  beautiful  to  those  who  study  it.  You 
have  seen  me  at  my  work.  I  recommend  it  to  you 
also." 

"  Well,  I  like  that !  "  she  exclaimed. 

"  So?  "  he  answered,  and  when  she  saw  that  irony 
or  discourtesy  was  far  from  his  thought,  she  did  not 
press  the  point.  Perhaps  it  was  safer  not  to  press  it. 

"  But  I  know  you  try  your  hand  at  painting.     You 


106       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

must  have  made  some  pictures  of  that  Snow  girl  who 
comes  down  here  so  often," 

"So  often?"  he  repeated,  and  it  seemed  to  Miss 
Grayley  that  a  shadow  came  across  his  face,  a  mena- 
cing frown  that  the  girl  was  quick  to  heed. 

"  I  thought  probably  she  would  appeal  to  you  as 
artistic.  Just  what  is  temperament,  Mr.  Howe? 
Mother  always  says  I've  been  full  of  it  since  I  was  a 
babe  in  arms.  If  it's  the  ability  to  love  what  is  lov- 
able, to  let  oneself  go,  as  it  were,  I  suppose  I'm  about 
as  intense  as  a  human  being  can  be  and  live.  Is  that 
temperament?  " 

"  Probably  it  is  —  one  variety  of  it,"  he  answered. 
"  Sorry  not  to  be  a  better  host,  but  really  I  must  lock 
this  place  up,  or  I  shall  be  late  for  supper." 

"  Then  you're  not  going  to  show  me  your  pictures 
after  my  taking  the  trouble  to  come  way  down  here  ?  " 

"  Pictures  ?  Would  you  call  my  attempts  pic- 
tures?" he  countered.  "If  you  would,  then  it  is 
obviously  wise  in  me  to  keep  them  hidden,  lest  you 
change  your  mind  about  them." 

Miss  Grayley  was  disappointed,  baffled,  but  by  no 
means  discouraged.  This  man  needed  time  to  learn  a 
woman's  ways,  but  he  could  be  taught. 

Together  they  left  the  shore  to  the  gulls  and  coming 
twilight  and  solitude.  A  thin  column  of  smoke  rose 
from  the  Graggs'  kitchen  chimney. 

"  Mrs.  Gragg  is  getting  supper,"  Conger  said,  "just 
as  she  did  when  Galton  was  a  little  boy,  long  years 
before  Captain  Gragg  made  his  money.  Don't  you 
like  the  sweet  naturalness  of  such  a  woman?  " 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       107 

"  I  adore  it,"  Miss  Grayley  said,  determined  to  leave 
a  good  impression  on  this  extraordinary  man.  "  And 
I  adore  Mrs.  Gragg.  I'm  not  sure  that  I  might  not  go 
further  and  adore  Galton  if  he  weren't  already 
tagged." 

'Tagged?  You  mean  that  some  one, has  reserved 
him,  as  it  were.  But  he  is  not  engaged." 

"  No,  but  any  fool  can  see  that  she  just  enjoys  keep- 
ing him  dangling." 

"  Strange,"  he  murmured,  as  though  to  himself,  "  I 
had  not  thought  so.  I  had  classed  him  as  the  pursuer." 

'  Yes,  I'm  not  surprised.  You  would."  And  with 
that  she  left  him  at  the  door  of  the  cottage  her  father 
hired  for  the  summer,  and  Conger  Howe,  turning  the 
corner  just  beyond,  came  out  on  to  the  State  highway 
and  the  Waquanesett  Inn  which  stood  well  back  from 
the  road  on  a  high  knoll.  The  doctor's  gig  was  at  the 
side  door;  the  fleabitten  gray  horse  that  had  acquired 
a  reputation  in  the  county  as  a  dodger  of  motor  cars 
was  hitched  to  the  post  under  the  big  silver  poplar 
where,  with  swishing  tail,  he  kept  up  a  perpetual  fight 
against  flies.  Dr.  Doon  was  wont  to  say :  "  All  my 
nerves  are  in  my  horse,"  and  those  who  had  seen  the 
fleabitten  gray  shy,  or  lash  out  with  his  front  feet, 
when  a  horse-fly  lit  on  his  nose,  had  also  seen  the  doc- 
tor sitting  calmly  in  his  gig  as  though  it  had  been  a 
rocking-chair  in  his  study,  and  could  believe  the  state- 
ment. 

The  dining-room  was  full;  supper  was  being  dis- 
posed of  with  the  usual  businesslike  haste.  Dr.  Doon 
was  at  Conger's  table  in  the  seat  next  to  his,  a  bit  of 


io8      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

good  luck,  for  the  doctor  was  keen  on  botany  and 
birds  and  a  number  of  things  outside  his  profession. 

"  Hoped  I  wasn't  going  to  miss  you,"  he  said,  as 
Conger  took  his  place  beside  him.  Before  he  could 
say  more  the  waitress  had  to  learn  his  decision  as  to 
"  Apple  pie,  bluemonge  or  currants."  That  question 
settled  in  favor  of  pie,  and  the  good  man  having  made 
a  mental  note  that  young  Howe  was  the  only  one  in 
the  room  who  hadn't  asked  him  who  was  sick,  he  was 
now  free  to  pursue  the  real  object  of  his  visit. 

"  That  must  be  quite  a  good  place  for  your  line  of 
work,  down  there  't  the  shore." 

"  It  suits  me  very  well,"  the  young  man  said.  "  I 
like  broad,  unobstructed  views  —  physical  or  moral 
alike." 

"  Hadn't  thought  of  the  similarity  before,"  the  doc- 
tor confessed,  "  but  don't  know  but  what  you're  right." 

"  It's  the  idea  of  the  infinite,"  Conger  went  on, 
"  space,  more  space,  until  you  can  seem  to  project 
yourself  into  the  eternal.  That  is  the  great  inspiration 
as  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Hm !  "  thought  the  doctor.  "  This  isn't  much  like 
the  conversation  I  came  here  to  have  with  this  man." 

He  tried  again,  this  time  directly  to  the  point. 
"  You  see  a  good  deal  of  Cap'n  Thoph's  daughter,  Rill, 
don't  you?" 

"  I'm  having  her  every  day  just  now.  Yes,  she's 
just  right  for  what  I'm  doing.  You  see  the  girl  doesn't 
seem  to  suspect  that  she  is  lovely  and  graceful. 
Natural  as  some  wild  animal.  Every  attitude  is 
charming  —  and  she  seems  to  enjoy  the  work/' 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       109 

"  You  know  about  her,  I  s'pose,"  the  doctor  said. 

"  Yes,  I  know  about  her.  There's  been  a  sad  chap- 
ter, and  we  must  try  to  make  her  forget  it." 

"  The  se-lectmen  " —  Dr.  Doon  got  as  far  as  that, 
and  stopped.  He  couldn't  bring  himself  to  say  to  that 
sensitive,  earnest,  thoughtful  face  beside  him  that  the 
selectmen  had  deputed  him  as  chairman  of  the  board 
of  health  and  member  of  the  school  committee  to  warn 
the  young  man  of  the  error  of  his  ways.  The  girl's 
father  had  requested  that  such  action  be  taken,  and 
one  of  the  summer  visitors  had  written  an  anonymous 
letter  on  the  scandal  of  Myrick's  barn,  the  basis  of 
each  complaint  being  Relief's  unhallowed  baby  and 
the  added  sin  of  her  refusal  to  gratify  curiosity  as  to 
its  parentage. 

But  now  that  the  good  doctor  was  well  launched 
upon  his  topic,  doubt  seized  and  held  him.  Why  press 
the  point  with  this  serious  and  courteous  young  man, 
to  suspect  whom  of  taking  advantage  of  Relief  Snow 
would  be  alike  stupid  and  unpardonable!  And  if  he 
were  guilty  of  no  such  offence  what  had  he  done  for 
which  he  should  be  called  to  account?  So  he  hung 
suspended  on  "  The  select-men  "  until  he  had  thought 
it  out.  Then  he  continued :  — "  make  mistakes,  the 
same  as  other  officials  higher  up.  But  they're  honest 
mistakes,  so  you  and  I  and  —  and  Relief  Snow  — 
will  overlook  them." 

"  That's  a  part  of  the  story  that  hasn't  come  to  me," 
Conger  answered,  then  added,  fearing  the  doctor 
might  think  him  curious  to  hear  it,  "  but  that's  of  no 
consequence.  I  am  really  quite  careful  that  she  doesn't 


no      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

pose  too  long  at  a  time.  Do  you  find  her  health  im- 
paired —  or  anything?  " 

"  God  bless  my  soul !  "  Dr.  Doon  exclaimed,  taking 
off  his  spectacles  to  wipe  them  on  his  big  handker- 
chief,— "  nothing  of  the  sort.  Why,  it's  the  best 
thing  that  could  happen  to  the  girl  to  learn  —  what 
you  are  teaching  her." 

"  Ah !  "  the  young  man  sighed ;  "  I  can  teach  her  but 
one  lesson,  that  taught  me  by  my  Chinese  amah  many 
years  ago :  '  He  needs  no  sword  whose  shield  is 
Honesty.'  " 

"  Good  Lord !  And  we  send  missionaries  out  there 
to  teach  those  people  our  theology !  "  After  uttering 
which  sentiment  Dr.  Doon  looked  at  the  young  man 
in  silence  for  a  full  minute.  Then  he  added :  "  What 
am  I  doing  here  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  a  patient  here?  "  Conger  asked. 

"Patient?  No!  No!  And  look  at  that  horse  of 
mine."  The  fleabitten  gray  was  pawing  up  as  much 
of  the  driveway  as  he  could  possibly  reach,  and  stood 
on  end  for  joy  when  his  master  unhitched  him  and 
gathered  up  the  reins.  Any  one  else  would  have 
thought  the  fleabitten  gray  was  running  away  as  he 
whirled  the  gig  out  of  the  driveway,  but  the  doctor 
turned  and  waved  a  good-by  to  the  young  man  standing 
under  the  poplar  tree  and  wondering  why  the  doctor 
had  forsaken  little  Mrs.  Doon  to  eat  a  lonely  supper 
at  the  Inn. 


CHAPTER  XV 

Waiting  for  the  mail  is  more  or  less  of  a  social  event 
in  the  country.  That  alone  saves  it  from  becoming  a 
test  of  patience. 

Conger  Howe  was  expecting  a  letter  from  New 
York.  One  of  that  great  city's  millionaires  had  set 
his  heart  upon  owning  the  picture  that  critics  had  called 
the  choicest  in  the  little  collection  by  Felix  £tron.  To 
a  telegram  from  the  dealer  asking  lowest  price,  Conger 
had  replied  naming  five  thousand  dollars,  and  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  he  had  berated  himself  ever  since 
for  a  fool  to  have  set  a  price  that  would  simply  drive 
away  the  prospective  buyer  in  disgust.  Then  he  would 
reason  it  out :  "  How  am  I  to  know  what  limit  to  set 
for  the  pictures  except  by  experimenting  till  I  find 
the  top  ?  The  minimum  is  easy  enough  —  most  paint- 
ers get  it  —  but  how  to  discover  the  m.aximum  ?  " 
And  each  time  it  seemed  plain  that  he  had  chosen  the 
only  way.  So  no  wonder  he  was  anxious  to  get  his 
mail.  There  were  not  many  in  the  whole  collection, 
and  his  living  depended  on  their  sale. 

Barbara  Wrayton  was  waiting  too,  and  Galton 
Gragg,  who  didn't  expect  anything  for  himself,  was 
very  keen  and  prophetic  about  Barbara's  letter.  She 
hadn't  favored  Conger  with  anything  more  than  a  nod 

since  their  ride  and  his  frank  discouragement  of  her 

in 


ii2       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

literary  efforts.  But  Galton,  never  lacking  in  confi- 
dence, was  talking  to  her  about  her  story,  and  insisted 
on  dragging  Conger  into  the  conversation. 

"  Miss  Wrayton,"  he  said,  "  has  sent  her  best  story 
to  one  of  the  big  magazines,  and  is  expecting  their  an- 
swer now  any  day.  I  tell  her  not  to  let  them  have  it 
at  a  low  figure  just  because  she  is  an  unknown  writer. 
Of  course  they'll  try  to  get  it  for  nothing,  but  I  say 
they'll  soon  be  after  all  she  can  turn  out,  and  it  doesn't 
pay  to  cheapen  your  work." 

Miss  Wrayton  looked  a  little  embarrassed.  Galton 
didn't  know  that  his  friend  had  given  his  opinion  of 
her  story.  If  he  had  known  the  facts  he  would  doubt- 
less have  gone  to  Conger  Howe  and  called  him  a 
bounder,  a  rotter  and  a  few  more  choice  epithets,  after 
which  Conger  would  have  stated  his  case  so  simply  and 
honestly  that  Galton  would  have  felt  ashamed,  but 
would  have  stuck  to  his  own  opinion  nevertheless. 

"  Here  it  is !  "  she  cried,  when  the  mail  was  finally 
sorted,  gleefully  holding  up  a  thick  envelope.  "  I 
can  hardly  wait  to  read  it.  I  do  hope  they've  been  ab- 
solutely frank  and  told  me  all  my  faults.  It  will  help 
me  in  the  next  one,  which  is  going  to  be  far  better." 

She  insisted  that  Mr.  Howe  should  come  back  home 
with  her.  Galton  was  coming  and  she  would  read 
the  letter  aloud.  Possibly  she  might  even  enjoy  seeing 
Conger  Howe  eat  humble  pie  when  he  should  hear  the 
encomiums  of  professional  critics. 

The  lamps  were  lighted,  and  the  three  gathered  about 
the  library  table  while  the  enraptured  author  tore  open 
her  first  real  business  letter. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       113 

"Miss  Barbara  Wrayton. 

"  DEAR  Miss  WRAYTON  :  We  have  read  your  story, 
'  The  Frozen  Flame,'  with  much  interest.  It  has  un- 
doubted merit " —  Here  the  reader  looked  across  the 
table  at  Conger  to  see  if  he  thoroughly  understood  that. 
Then  resuming:  "But  just  at  present  we  have  no 
demand  for  exactly  that  sort  of  story,  so  we  are  very 
reluctantly  returning  it  herewith.  With  sincere  thanks 
for  the  opportunity  to  read  it,  We  are  very  sincerely, 
etc.,  etc." 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.  Conger's  face  was 
very  red  because,  though  he  couldn't  explain  it,  he  felt 
very  sorry  for  her,  sorry  that  she  had  read  it  before 
him  after  what  had  happened  between  them.  Gal  ton 
was  the  first  to  break  the  awkward  silence : 

'  You  can  see  what  their  opinion  of  it  is.  That's 
plain  as  the  nose  on  your  face.  They're  enthusiastic, 
all  right.  But  probably  the  demand  is  running  on 
some  silly  trash.  Of  course  they  have  to  publish,  not 
what  they  want,  but  what  the  public  appreciates." 

"  I  shall  send  it  right  back  to  another  house,"  Bar- 
bara responded.  "  They  don't  all  want  the  same  style 
of  stories,  you  see.  But,  oh  dear !  the  delay  is  exasper- 
ating. I  did  so  want  to  see  it  in  print,  this  summer." 

Conger  tried  twice  to  say  something  that  wouldn't 
sound  like  condolence.  Finally  he  took  refuge  in 
generalities :  "  Success,  I  often  think,  especially  suc- 
cess in  creative  work,  is  very  largely  fortuitous." 

"  Why  don't  you  say  it's  a  matter  of  luck  if  that's 
what  you  think?"  Galton  asked  savagely.  And  Bar- 


ii4       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

bara,  glad  of  any  diversion,  added :  "  I  was  trying  to 
figure  out  what  '  fortuitous  '  meant.  I  thought  it  was 
the  adjective  for  fortitude."  But  the  tension  was  re- 
lieved, and  Barbara  was  quite  herself  again  when 
Conger  left,  only  the  gleam  of  exultation  had  given 
place  to  a  more  becoming  humility. 

That  very  night  her  manuscript  was  mailed  to  an- 
other of  the  leading  monthlies.  Better  not  to  waste  a 
day.  You  couldn't  break  into  the  coterie  of  short- 
story  writers  in  a  minute.  "  Art  is  long,"  Barbara's 
thoughts  ran.  "  But  with  ability  and  speed  you  can 
cover  the  distance."  And  she  smiled  as  her  imagina- 
tion sketched  her  portrait  in  the  newspapers.  "  Miss 
Barbara  Wrayton,  author  of  '  The  Frozen  Flame.' ' 
She  was  at  work  on  another,  far  more  startling  and 
original.  In  this  a  girl  singularly  beautiful,  of  a 
character  to  match  that  of  any  supernal  saint,  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  brought  up  by  a  cruel  stepmother 
whose  soul  was  black  as  her  alpaca  gown.  Naturally 
enough,  the  poor  child  ran  away  from  home  and  landed 
in  the  superb  Italian  garden  on  the  estate  of  a  daz- 
zlingly  wealthy  duke.  It  was  in  England  where  dukes 
and  Italian  gardens  are  not  uncommon.  After  that, 
life  was  different.  The  duke's  son,  his  only  son  and 
heir,  fell  in  love  with  Gwendolyn  —  that  was  her  name 
—  and  in  the  last  paragraph  they  were  married,  much 
to  the  chagrin  of  the  black  soul  and  alpaca  dress  and 
accompanying  stepmother.  This  story  was  entitled: 
"  The  Outcast,"  and  had  cost  its  author  many  a  sympa- 
thetic tear  and  sleepless  night.  "  The  Outcast  "  was 
sent  to  a  third  publisher.  With  two  irons  in  the  fire  it 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       115 

was  only  a  question  which  should  come  to  white  heat 
first.  It  must  not  be  inferred  that  this  story  was 
trash.  It  was,  on  the  contrary,  well  written,  and  if 
its  author  had  already  made  a  name  for  herself  would 
doubtless  have  been  dramatized  for  the  screen, —  there 
are  only  a  few  plots  in  all  fiction,  the  thousands  of 
stories  extant  being  but  clever  variations  on  the  old 
themes. 

In  spite  of  Conger  Howe's  lack  of  appreciation  of 
her  ability  as  a  writer,  Barbara  constantly  found  her- 
self thinking  of  him,  wondering  why  he  seemed  so  in- 
different, hoping  some  day  to  hear  his  confession  that 
he  had  been  quite  wrong.  He  seemed  a  lonely  man, 
working  for  hours  in  the  garden  back  of  the  inn,  taking 
his  long  excursions  on  foot,  or  painting  down  at  My- 
rick's  barn ;  he  was  so  much  alone.  Evenings  he  read 
in  his  bedroom.  No  one  could  induce  him  to  attend 
the  card  parties  at  which  all  the  young  people  met  two 
or  three  times  each  week.  Bess  Grayley,  called  into 
consultation,  declared  that  she  was  very  glad  he  didn't 
come,  as  she  hated  the  sight  of  him.  "  Why?  "  Bar- 
bara asked.  Barbara  had  had  from  childhood  a  tire- 
some habit  of  demanding  a  reason  for  everything. 

"  Why?  "  Bess  repeated  irritably.  "  Because  he  — 
well,  if  you  want  to  know,  he  doesn't  act  like  a  gentle- 
man. That  model  business  and  a  little  way  you  may 
have  noticed  of  being  too  friendly  the  minute  you're 
left  alone  with  him." 

'  You  must  have  made  a  deep  impression,  Bess. 
He  has  never  been  friendly  with  me.  Anything  but 
that!" 


ii6      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Then  I'm  not  going  to  say  anything  more  about  it." 
Such  was  Bess  Grayley's  statement,  but  she  was  much 
disappointed  when  Barbara  dropped  the  subject  there, 
and  refused  to  be  led  into  further  questioning. 

Galton  was  too  busy  a  man  to  spend  much  of  his 
summer  in  Waquanesett.  After  his  vacation  in  June 
he  got  down  only  for  Sundays.  His  object  in  such 
regular  short  visits  was  ostensibly  to  see  his  father 
and  mother,  but  they  knew  that  nine-tenths  of  his  real 
motive  was  to  see  Barbara  Wrayton.  Why  couldn't 
the  girl  surrender  now  as  well  as  later?  Why  wear 
out  their  splendid  son  by  years  of  anxiety  when  she 
was  certain  to  yield  some  day?  These  questions  Cap- 
tain Gragg  and  his  wife  asked  each  other  almost  daily, 
and  the  only  answer  was  that  Barbara  had,  with  all 
her  charm,  some  of  the  characteristics  of  the  flirt. 

One  Sunday  she  and  Galton  strolled  down  to  the 
shore  together.  Barbara  tried  to  talk  of  other  people 
and  things,  but  Galton  would  not  have  it. 

"  I've  got  to  get  one  or  two  personal  questions  set- 
tled first,"  he  declared. 

"  Oh,  all  right,"  she  acquiesced,  "  if  there  are  two, 
I  don't  mind.  What  I  object  to  is  your  sticking  to 
one.  It  gets  so  monotonous." 

"  You're  so  cold!  "  he  flung  back;  "  you've  put  me 
off  so  by  that  tone  I  should  feel  like  a  fool  to  tell  you 
that  I  love  you." 

"  Then,  why  do  you  ?  Why  don't  you  let  me  won- 
der for  at  least  a  week  whether  you  do  or  don't?  " 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  just  one  question,"  and  the  look 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       117 

on  Galton's  brow  was  that  of  the  masterful  man  who 
gets  his  own  way  in  the  end.  "  Do  you  realize  that  I 
have  given  up  every  other  girl  for  you;  that  I  might 
marry  brilliantly  from  a  social  point  of  view  and  that 
I've  turned  it  all  down  for  you?  And  don't  you  see 
that  you  are  in  honor  bound  — ?  " 

"  Once  more  your  favorite  metaphor,"  she  inter- 
rupted. "  You've  staked  a  claim,  and  I'm  the  claim. 
The  oftener  you  talk  like  that,  the  surer  I  am  that  I 
shall  never  marry  you.  Now  be  nice  and  sensible. 
I  want  to  talk  about  Conger  Howe.  Why  is  he  such 
a  woman-hater?  " 

No  better  proof  of  her  influence  over  Galton  could 
be  asked  than  his  immediate  compliance  with  her  mood. 
He  dropped  argument  and  recrimination  and  fell  to 
discussing  Conger. 

"  My  mother  understands  him.  He  drops  in  every 
little  while,  and  she  can  make  him  talk  about  himself. 
She  thinks  it's  his  early  life,  no  childhood,  no  notion 
of  play  or  friends.  Did  you  know  that  his  only  chum 
as  a  little  boy  was  a  donkey?  And  he  called  him 
'  Brother.' '  Hereupon  Galton  laughed  aloud  at  the 
thought  of  it.  "  Two  little  donkeys!  Brothers!  " 

"  Don't  laugh,  please.  It's  no  laughing  matter," 
Barbara  insisted.  "Hungry  for  love;  that's  what  it 
meant.  Poor  little  motherless,  friendless  chap!  So 
he  isn't  the  cold,  self-centered  being  Bess  calls  him." 

"  Cold  ?  Conger  Howe  is  so  intense  that  he  can  take 
up  but  one  topic  at  a  time.  His  mind  and  heart  and 
soul  simply  focus  on  subject  or  object  until  it  is  his. 


One  thing  at  a  time.  He  develops  slowly.  But  he 
would  die  in  a  minute  for  one  he  loves.  I  think  he 
would  for  me." 

"  I  wonder  if  he  has  ever  cared  for  any  girl  of  his 
own  age.  I  wonder  if  —  if  he  could  be  made  to,"  she 
replied.  Galton  would  have  pursued  it  further,  for 
he  didn't  wholly  relish  this  interest  of  Barbara's,  but 
as  he  was  about  to  speak  a  flutter  of  white  caught  his 
eye,  far  off  on  the  bluff  where  Myrick's  'barn  stood 
out  against  the  sky.  A  woman  came  out  and  stood  a 
minute  sharply  outlined,  but  too  far  away  to  be  recog- 
nizable to  the  two  down  by  the  water's  edge  in  front 
of  the  jagged  line  of  bath  houses.  A  man  followed 
and  stood  beside  the  woman.  Then  she  turned  away, 
and  they  could  still  see  the  flutter  of  white.  She  was 
coming  towards  them;  she  would  cross  through  the 
pine  grove  and  so  out  to  the  beach  within  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  of  them. 

"  That  isn't  Relief  Snow,"  Galton  said,  when  he 
saw  that  she  too  was  watching  the  approaching  figure. 
"  Strange  if  this  should  answer  your  question.  If  so 
it's  the  first  woman  who  ever  made  an  impression  on 
him." 

"  Don't  look  round !  "  Barbara  urged  a  little  later. 
"  Pretend  we  are  watching  that  log  floating  off  there. 
It's  Bess;  I  just  caught  sight  of  her,  and  she  will  see 
us  in  a  fninute." 

They  kept  their  eyes  resolutely  before  them,  but  at 
the  end  of  ten  minutes  Miss  Grayley  had  not  joined 
them.  For  some  reason  she  had  seen  fit  to  avoid  them. 

Something,  hardly  definite  enough  to  call  a  suspi- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      119 

cion,  restrained  Barbara,  when  the  two  girls  met  later 
in  the  day,  from  frankly  questioning  her  friend  about 
the  visit  to  Myrick's  barn.  Instead  she  asked  her: 
"Do  you  ever  run  across  Conger  Howe?" 

"  Why  do  you  ask  ?  "  Bess  said,  sparring  for  time. 

"  Curiosity." 

"  Well,  then,  I  haven't  laid  eyes  on  the  creature  for 
a  week,  and  what's  more,  I  don't  want  to." 

"  Which  makes  me  more  curious  than  ever,"  Bar- 
bara responded  in  such  an  unwonted  tone  that  Bess 
Grayley  looked  at  her  narrowly.  Evidently  her  de- 
cision was  that  they  couldn't  have  seen  her,  for  she 
said  no  more.  But  that,  trifling  as  it  was,  was  the  first 
rift  in  their  intimacy.  Barbara  insensibly  kept  her 
confidences  thenceforth  more  and  more  to  herself,  and, 
in  trusting  her  friend  less,  gradually  drew  away  from 
her. 

Then,  one  September  afternoon,  came  her  turn  to 
study  Conger^Howe  at  close  range.  She  was  strolling 
across  the  fields  that  rolled  in  little  hills  and  valleys,  a 
miniature  mountain  scenery,  and  suddenly  in  a  shel- 
tered hollow  was  Conger  Howe  sitting  on  the  ground. 
Curled  up  beside  him  was  a  big  yellow  dog  of  no  breed 
at  all,  a  dog  whose  ancestry,  polymorphous  and  poly- 
chromatic as  it  was,  extended  back  just  as  far  as  that 
of  your  prize-winning  thoroughbred.  His  owner,  a 
Portuguese,  who  lived  back  in  the  woods,  had  been 
warned  time  and  again  to  dispose  of  him  as  a  public 
menace.  The  town  was  afraid  of  the  yellow  dog; 
man,  woman  and  child  gave  him  a  wide  berth  and  a 
bad  name.  And,  whether  this  were  cause  or  effect,  it 


120      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

cannot  be  denied  that  the  yellow  dog  was  hostile  to 
every  one  he  met. 

Yet,  here  he  lay,  curled  up  in  the  sun,  and  his  head 
was  on  Conger  Howe's  knee,  and  Conger  Howe's  hand 
stroked  his  rough  ears.  Close  behind  them  grazed  a 
worn-out  old  horse  whose  weather-beaten  coat  had 
known  neither  comb  nor  brush  for  many  months.  He 
was  so  lame  that  when  he  stood  still  he  lifted  one  hind 
foot  clear  of  the  ground,  and  his  despondent  air  con- 
vinced you  that  he  had  heard  how  his  owner  had 
turned  him  loose  to  save  the  cost  of  a  cartridge. 
Something  had  drawn  the  lame  horse  to  join  the  man 
and  the  dog.  He  had  limped  painfully  over  to  be  near 
them,  and  he  found  the  sparse  grass  sweeter  where 
they  were. 

Barbara,  climbing  to  the  brow  of  a  low  grassy  hill, 
came  upon  them  suddenly;  there  they  were,  a  hun- 
dred feet  away,  and  the  man  hadn't  seen  her.  But  the 
yellow  dog  was  on  his  feet  instantly,  growling  like  the 
savage  he  was,  and  showing  his  dangerous  long 
teeth. 

Conger  caught  him  by  the  tail  and  dragged  him 
back.  "  Down,  beast !  "  he  commanded,  and  Barbara 
wondered  how  any  one  could  utter  the  word  "  beast " 
so  that  it  seemed  a  caress.  The  yellow  dog  under- 
stood it  too,  and  turned  to  lick  the  hand  that  held  him, 
and  the  girl  went  straight  down  into  the  hollow  to 
join  the  other  three,  wondering  at  herself  as  she 
went.  It  wrould  have  been  so  easy  to  keep  on  with 
just  a  pleasant  word  flung  from  the  top  of  the 
hill. 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       121 

"  How  did  you  make  friends  with  these  two  out- 
casts? "  she  asked. 

"Make  friends?"  he  repeated.  "You  do  not  un- 
derstand. We  have  so  much  in  common  —  and  I  love 
them." 

"  Just  like  a  little  boy,"  she  thought,  and  then  it 
was  all  so  genuine,  so  natural  to  this  man,  she  forgot 
that  they  were  not  both  children,  and  sat  down  unin- 
vited, while  the  big  yellow  dog  still  eyed  her  suspi- 
ciously, and  Conger  Howe  put  his  arm  about  the  dog's 
neck  to  make  sure  that  he  behaved  like  a  properly  edu- 
cated person,  and  kept  his  dislikes  muffled. 

"  You  mean  you  really  prefer  dogs  and  horses  and 
gulls  and  things  to  your  own  kind?  "  Barbara  asked. 

"  They  are  so  much  simpler,"  he  said;  "  it's  an  open 
book.  The  waving  grass  all  brown  and  yellow  and 
red  where  it  has  ripened  and  gone  to  seed, —  if  it  de- 
lights you,  there  it  is.  Examine,  and  you  find  it  real 
grass;  the  rest  is  the  sunlight  and  the  breeze.  The 
horse  and  the  dog  are  genuine  also,  and  you  may  look 
through  their  eyes  directly  into  their  hearts.  No  pre- 
tence, no  deception.  Perhaps  you  say  not  enough  re- 
serve. They  are  not  self-conscious,  that  is  all." 

Presently  they  fell  to  talking  of  other  things,  and 
that  was  through  Barbara's  influence;  she  wanted  to 
talk  of  herself,  in  spite  of  former  defeat. 

"  Did  you  know,"  she  asked,  "  that  I  am  on  the  very 
brink  of  having  a  story  published?  " 

"What  sort  of  brink?  Not  the  brink  of  despair, 
evidently.  But  I  think  of  a  brink  as  the  edge  of  a 
steep  place  down  which  one  may  plunge." 


122       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Well,  my  word  wasn't  a  very  good  one,  but  you 
know  what  I  meant,  the  ragged  edge." 

"  Ah,"  he  rejoined,  without  the  smallest  intention 
of  being  unkind,  "  that  must  be  the  Gehenna  of  most 
prospective  authors,  that  same  ragged  edge." 

"  About  a  fortnight  ago  I  saw  you  standing  on  the 
brink  in  front  of  Myrick's  barn.  It  was  Sunday  aft- 
ernoon, and  you  were  not  alone.  That,  too,  was  a 
ragged  edge,  wasn't  it?  Do  you  recall  the  time  I 
mean?  " 

"  I  cannot  understand  why  you  ask  —  I  had  thought 
none  knew  or  was  to  know  — "  he  broke  off  here, 
looking  at  her  with  the  puzzled  look  between  his  eyes. 
And  Barbara,  with  womanly  quickness,  perceiving 
that  her  question  had  uncovered  more  than  she  had 
suspected,  was  at  a  loss  how  to  go  on.  She  was  very 
curious  to  know  what  it  was  that  he  had  thought  was 
to  be  kept  secret  between  him  and  Bess  Grayley.  But 
she  had  no  wish  to  cause  him  to  betray  Bess's  secret 
if  such  he  held,  nor  was  she  willing  to  take  advantage 
of  his  possible  credulity  in  assuming  that  she  and  her 
friend  kept  nothing  from  each  other. 

"  Perhaps  you  advised  her  to  take  the  step  she  did  ? 
She  had  talked  it  over  with  you  before  —  before  that 
Sunday  afternoon?  " 

"  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  But  you  rather  inferred  it.  Well,  then,  if  you 
only  knew  of  it  afterward,  what  was  your  criticism? 
Did  you  endorse  that  sort  of  thing?  I  am  really  curi- 
ous to  know  how  you  would  look  upon  it  —  whether 
it  is  the  sort  of  thing  that  —  well,  that  is  done." 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       123 

She  sat  very  still  looking  at  him.  Clearly  this  was 
something  that  he  ought  not  to  tell  her,  would  not,  if 
he  understood  that  she  knew  nothing  whatsoever  about 
it.  She  didn't  like  to  say  this  in  so  many  words,  be- 
cause at  the  time  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  sound 
heroic,  an  exhibition  of  virtue.  But  she  was  resolved 
to  prevent  him  from  telling  it.  It  was  he  who  spoke : 

"  I  see;  you  are  afraid  to  speak  for  fear  of  betray- 
ing her  confidence.  Quite  likely  you  are  right,  and 
yet  there  is  much  that  has  puzzled  me  about  the  inter- 
view. I  do  not  really  know  what  —  what  could  have 
been  her  motive.  But  possibly  you  know,  and  you 
approve  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  even  tell  you  that,"  Barbara  answered. 
Then  she  continued,  glad  to  beat  a  retreat  before  she 
got  in  any  deeper,  "  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  about 
what  you  said  one  day;  that  what  we  are  striving  for 
is  power.  I  find  it  absolutely  true.  It  answers  every 
question.  It  is  my  one  reason  for  writing.  And  if 
I  ever  marry  it  will  be  for  the  same  reason  —  wealth 
and  position  mean  power."  Conger  Howe  showed 
little  interest  in  her  marriage  prospects,  and  less  in  her 
forthcoming  story.  In  fact,  he  was  much  more  inter- 
ested in  the  yellow  dog  than  in  the  talented  and  ambi- 
tious young  lady.  She  was  tempted  to  say  something 
of  the  sort,  but  a  decent  pride  prevented  her. 

Gathering  her  belongings  she  scrambled  up  over  the 
slippery  grass  to  the  rim  of  the  hollow,  and  looking 
back  she  saw  that  Conger  Howe  was  carefully  picking 
a  burr  from  the  dog's  shaggy  ear. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

When  Bess  Grayley,  at  her  first  meeting  with  Con- 
ger Howe,  announced  to  her  companions  that  she  felt 
herself  called  to  cure  him  of  his  indifference  to  fem- 
inine charms,  she  little  thought  how  seriously  she 
would  come  to  view  her  task. 

She  had  no  particular  idea  at  first  except  that  com- 
mon to  her  sex :  that  the  man  who  fails  to  take  notice 
should  be  taught  the  error  of  his  way.  But  the  more 
she  saw  of  Conger  Howe  the  more  she  was  attracted 
to  him,  and  in  that  growing  attraction  she  developed  a 
cunning  and  a  capacity  for  deceit  beyond  what  had 
hitherto  .seemed  possible  to  her.  She  lay  in  wait  for 
him  as  he  left  the  inn  early  in  the  morning  to  cross  the 
fields  to  the  shore.  From  her  back  window  it  was 
easy  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  coming  and  going.  She 
encountered  him  at  the  Post  Office  daily,  and  the  oft- 
ener  she  met  him  the  more  vehemently  she  declared  to 
Barbara  Wrayton  that  she  detested  him.  Little  by 
little,  giving  herself  up  to  the  pursuit,  it  became  a  pas- 
sion, until  she  could  think  of  nothing  else.  He  was 
the  only  man  in  the  world  for  her.  She  read  reams 
of  poetry  by  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox  and  other  special- 
ists in  passionate  verse.  She  lay  awake  imagining 
perilous  situations  from  which  her  woman's  cleverness 
saved  him,  or  his  courage  rescued  her,  only  to  reveal 
to  him  in  a  flash  that  he  had  loved  her  madly  from  the 

124 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       125 

first.  She  could  cry  herself  to  sleep  over  some  of  these 
thrilling  scenes,  but  they  always  ended  in  mutual  adora- 
tion and  matrimony. 

On  that  Sunday  afternoon  when  Galton  and  Bar- 
bara had  seen  her  leaving  Myrick's  barn,  she  had  fol- 
lowed Conger  to  the  shore  for  the  specific  purpose  of 
arousing  his  sympathy.  That  her  physical  charms  un- 
aided were  potent  enough  to  win  him,  she  had  begun 
to  doubt,  but  she  reasoned  that  their  failure  to  over- 
whelm him  was  only  because  his  eyes  had  never  been 
opened.  His  heart  however  was  tender,  his  sympa- 
thies easily  enlisted,  and  then  — !  It  was  to  that  de- 
lightful uncertainty  that  she  looked  forward  with 
confidence. 

Myrick's  barn  had  other  advantages  than  its  remote 
location,  or  its  command  of  the  broad  bay,  or  even  the 
picturesque  quality  which  age  and  decay  sometimes 
bestow  as  a  slight  compensation  for  the  loss  of  fresh- 
ness and  strength.  It  was  a  surprise  each  year  when 
the  winter  storms  blew  over  it  and  through  it,  twisting 
it  more  and  more  out  of  shape,  that  it  still  held"  to- 
gether. But  each  spring  welcomed  its  blackened  sides 
and  just  vanishing  roof  with  smiles  and  sunshine  and, 
though  it  had  outlived  every  soul  in  Waquanesett  who 
had  known  its  infancy,  it  still  bade  fair  to  welcome 
many  another  generation.  Bess  Grayley,  that  Sunday 
afternoon,  was  not  thinking  of  these  things,  but  of  the 
advantage  the  old  building  offered  for  reconnoitring. 
If  he  were  not  alone,  she  might  see  for  herself  how  he 
treated  other  people,  particularly  Relief  Snow.  And 
if  he  were  alone,  what  would  he  be  doing?  It  wasn't 


126      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

likely  that  he  did  much  painting;  he  was  too  bright  to 
imagine  that  he  could  ever  become  an  artist.  Prob- 
ably he  would  be  reading,  or  lying  on  his  back  smoking 
a  pipe  and  dreaming  of  what  he  hoped  to  do  or  to  be. 
In  either  case  prudence  dictated  a  strategic  approach, 
so  she  went  very  softly  along  the  east  side  where  pry- 
ing and  inquisitive  strollers  on  the  beach,  if  any  were 
there,  could  not  see  her. 

From  the  bright  light  seen  through  the  wide  cracks 
it  was  evident  the  big  doors  were  open  towards  the  sea, 
so  he  was  somewhere  inside,  though  not  a  sound  be- 
trayed him.  She  chose  a  knothole  for  her  survey; 
its  advantages  were  obvious.  And  there,  very  near 
her,  stood  Conger.  He  was  alone,  and  he  was  working 
fast  at  a  canvas  that  seemed  to  be  almost  finished. 
To  Bess  Grayley's  untrained  eye  it  was  a  lovely  pic- 
ture. There  was  Myrick's  barn,  and  the  sand  cliff  on 
which  it  stood,  and  a  girl  was  going  down  the  path 
with  a  big  stone  jug,  going  down  to  the  old  spring 
that  had  been  brackish  for  fifty  years.  "  Poor  thing !  " 
thought  Miss  Grayley.  "  She's  wasting  her  time  go- 
ing to  that  spring."  When  she  could  reason  it  out 
calmly  afterwards  Miss  Grayley  realized  that  the  light 
in  a  barn  is  dim  for  seeing  pictures;  that  her  peep 
through  a  knothole  was  distinctly  favorable  to  the  par- 
ticular picture ;  and  that  it  took  her  by  surprise  to  find 
Conger  painting  anything  which  she  could  admire. 

Stepping  softly  to  the  door  she  presented  herself  as 
though  amazed  to  find  the  barn  tenanted.  This  was 
conveyed,  not  in  words,  but  in  a  due  amount  of  fem- 
inine flutter  which  left  her  speechless  and  shy. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      127 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed,  hurriedly,  removing  his  pic- 
ture and  turning  its  face  to  the  wall,  "  it's  Miss 
Grayley." 

"  Now,  what  a  speech  that  is ! "  she  said,  trying  to 
be  just  a  trifle  hurt.  "  Couldn't  you  add,  '  How  de- 
lightful ' —  or  something?  " 

"  But  I  was  at  work  —  touching  up  an  old  thing  that 
might  be  taken  — " 

"  Might  be  taken  for  Myrick's  barn,"  she  caught 
him  up,  "  if  one  could  judge  in  the  flash  you  allowed 
me."  Then  recalling  his  words,  she  added: 

"  So  it's  not  really  a  new  picture.  You  were  just 
touching  up  an  old  one?  " 

"  That  was  the  idea,"  he  assented.  But  a  light  was 
dawning  on  Miss  Grayley.  She  had  caught  him 
touching  up  an  old  picture,  changing  the  foreground 
to  make  it  pass  for  Myrick's  barn.  Could  it  be  that 
he  would  actually  practise  such  deception  even  to  the 
extent  of  selling  such  a  picture  as  his  own?  "  But  I 
never  heard  of  his  selling  one  of  his  pictures,"  she  con- 
cluded. Still  she  was  keenly  conscious  that  she  had 
discovered  something  of  which  he  was  not  at  all  proud. 

The  silence  was  becoming  awkward  when  she  said, 
with  complete  change  of  manner  as  though  the  inci- 
dent of  the  picture  had  been  forgotten,  "  May  I  sit 
down?  I'm  wretchedly  unhappy,  Mr.  Howe.  I  don't 
know  why  I  should  do  such  a  thing,  but  —  if  you  don't 
mind  —  may  I  give  you  my  confidence  ?  It  seems  as 
though  I  simply  must  tell  some  one — " 

He  had  offered  her  a  beer  keg  with  an  old  coat 
thrown  over  it,  for  a  chair,  and  from  this  she  looked 


128      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

up  at  him  still  standing,  and  he  saw  tears  in  her  eyes. 
"You  have  told  Miss  Wrayton?"  he  asked,  and  she 
shook  her  head. 

"  No ;  you  wouldn't  understand,  but  girls  are  so 
unsympathetic,  so  cattish,  towards  each  other.  You 
know  Barbara  —  self-centred.  She  can't  help  it. 
I'm  not  blaming  her.  But  no  fair-weather  friend  for 
me  when  I'm  in  trouble !  " 

Up  to  this  time,  it  must  be  confessed,  Conger  Howe 
had  been  much  more  troubled  at  the  thought  that  some- 
one had  caught  him  touching  up  that  picture  than  at 
the  girl's  distress.  Suddenly,  however,  he  found  him- 
self so  sorry  for  her  that  his  own  annoyance  vanished, 
and  he  squatted  on  the  floor  in  true  Chinese  fashion, 
which  must  be  far  more  comfortable  than  it  looks,  and 
that  attitude  of  repose  had  at  least  the  merit  that  it 
seemed  to  give  her  permission  to  stay. 

"If  telling  me  will  help  you,"  Conger  said,  "  I  will 
hear  it  willingly." 

"  You  must  hear  it.  I  am  not  understood  at  home. 
You  may  not  know  it,  but  one's  family  seldom  under- 
stands or  appreciates  or  sympathizes." 

"  For  me,"  he  agreed,  wishing  even  now  to  keep  to 
generalities,  "  I  do  not  know  —  for  there  is  no  family." 

"  Oh !  I  remember,"  and  stealthily  her  hand  sought 
his.  True  emotion  may  often  be  more  eloquently  ex- 
pressed by  the  hand,  but  he  failed  to  see  it,  and  one 
golden  opportunity  was  lost. 

This  failure  of  his  to  respond  and  to  let  the  conver- 
sation become  personal  forced  her  to  take  a  fresh 
start.  "  In  coming  to  you  —  I  mean,  in  taking  advan- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       129 

tage  of  this  accidental  meeting  —  I  feel,  I  don't  know 
why  I  do,  that  I  can  trust  your  judgment  as  well  as 
your  honor  and  sympathy." 

This  called  for  no  reply,  and  he  made  none,  so  she 
went  on.  "  I  must  leave  home.  My  position  there  is 
unendurable.  Oh!  I  know  you  will  say  that  an  only 
child  can  surely  live  with  her  parents  —  and  all  that  — 
but  it  isn't  so.  It  is  quarrel,  wrangle,  criticism,  injus- 
tice from  morning  till  night.  I  have  got  to  end  it. 
I'm  not  perfect.  I  don't  say  that  I  am;  but  I  am  the 
most  sensitive  person  in  the  world.  You  know  what 
that  means  because  you,  too,  are  sensitive.  People 
say  things, —  they  may  not  mean  them,  but  they  hurt. 
And  they  are  always  saying  and  doing  things  that  hurt 
me.  They  seem  to  think  that  I  have  no  right  to  be  — " 

Tears  were  falling  from  those  sad  blue  eyes;  her 
face  was  buried  in  her  hands,  and  her  bowed  head  was 
really  beautiful,  surrounded  by  its  light  aureole  of 
golden  hair,  shimmering,  soft,  vitally  appealing.  He 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  touched  it.  She  did  not 
move;  it  seemed  to  comfort  her.  He  smoothed  the 
lovely  hair  as  though  it  had  been  the  head  of  the  yel- 
low dog,  and,  like  the  yellow  dog,  she  was  very  still 
lest  the  stroking  should  cease.  Her  tears  had  vanished, 
a  pink  glow  suffused  her  neck  and  ears,  and  showed 
between  the  ringers  that  still  hid  her  face.  And  the 
woman  who  had  won  so  far  with  her  most  primitive 
weapons  was  silent  because  she  dared  not  reckon  the 
effect  of  a  different  strategy.  Was  not  this  perfect 
while  it  lasted?  One  must  make  haste  slowly.  It 
was  a  long  while  before  the  stroking  ended,  so  long 


130      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

that  her  knees  were  beginning  to  resent  the  sharp  pres- 
sure of  her  elbows.  But,  Miss  Grayley  wisely  guessed 
that  this  was  the  first  experience  of  the  kind  that  had 
ever  befallen  Conger  Howe.  A  much  wider  range  of 
similar  happenings  gave  her  wisdom,  and  she  waited 
for  him.  When  she  saw  that  he  was  likely  to  rise  and 
break  the  spell,  she  straightened  up  and  looking  from 
him  out  through  the  great  doors,  far  across  the  bay, 
continued  in  a  voice  so  low  it  was  scarce  audible : 
"  My  worst  offence  is  that  I  am  —  passionately,  hope- 
lessly —  devoted  to  a  man  who  —  who  " —  wasn't  he 
coming  to  her  rescue?  She  gave  him  abundant  time. 
Finally  he  asked :  "  You  mean  he  doesn't  —  that  is, 
it  isn't  mutual?  " 

She  nodded,  and  kept  her  face  resolutely  from  him. 

"  Poor  girl !  I'm  very  sorry."  He  had  risen  and 
was  standing  beside  her  now.  He  even  patted  the 
golden  head,  and  repeated:  "Very  sorry." 

She  stood  and  faced  him,  so  near  that  he  might  easily 
have  closed  his  two  arms  about  her.  She  raised  her 
face  to  his,  and  it  would  have  been  but  a  trifle,  a  bend- 
ing forward  of  the  head,  to  kiss  those  lips  so  near  his 
own. 

"  It  is  selfish  of  me  to  burden  you  with  my  sorrow." 
How  natural  that  he  should  disclaim  any  burden;  tell 
her  it  was  only  a  delight  to  help  and  comfort  her !  He 
seemed  not  even  to  hear  her,  so  she  grew  more  confi- 
dential : 

"  If  I  only  knew  how  to  treat  him  —  I  mean  whether 
I  ought  to  let  him  know.  He's  such  a  strange  man, 
so  — "  Surely  a  sentence  left  hanging  thus  in  mid-air 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       131 

would  appeal  to  his  gallantry.  At  least  he  would  ask 
her  to  finish  it.  There  was  something  uncanny  in  the 
way  he  responded.  It  left  her  wondering  whether  the 
man  actually  suspected,  or  was  so  utterly  ingenuous 
that  thought  of  himself  in  such  a  role  would  never 
cross  his  mind.  "  Far  better  not,  I'm  sure.  Even  in 
this  country  where  women  rule,  the  idea  would  shock 
such  a  man  as  you  would  be  likely  to  care  for." 

"  You  will  never  tell  —  promise  me  you  will  never 
tell !  "  she  cried.  "  Oh,  I  am  afraid  I've  done  a  very 
silly  thing,  but — I  just  couldn't  help  it.  And  you 
will  not  be  angry  with  me,  will  you  ?  " 

"  I  will  never  tell  and  I  am  not  the  least  angry.  I 
am  sorry  for  you.  I  wish  there  was  something  that 
I  could  do."  He  hesitated;  then  added:  "And  I 
wish  that  you  in  turn  would  say  nothing  about  my  re- 
touching that  picture.  It  might  —  give  a  false  im- 
pression." She  had  forgotten  the  picture.  Though 
he  resolutely  refused  to  take  advantage  of  the  present 
opportunity,  they  were  now  bound  to  each  other  by 
mutual  vows  of  secrecy.  She  raised  her  right  hand 
as  though  he  had  sworn  her,  and  repeated  his  words, 
"  I  will  never  tell." 

They  came  out  upon  the  bluff,  and  stood  there  a 
minute.  Then  she  said :  "  Good-by,  dear  friend. 
May  I  come  again  for  comfort?  " 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  warmly.  "  Come  whenever  I 
can  help  you !  " 

The  woman  made  her  way  along  the  cliff  where  a 
sandy  path  dipped  down  out  of  sight  from  Myrick's 
barn,  and  then  out  on  the  level  of  the  beach. 


132       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Here  it  was  that  she  had  suddenly  spied  Galton  and 
Barbara  who,  fortunately,  she  decided,  were  so  occu- 
pied with  each  other  that  they  didn't  look  in  her  direc- 
tion. 

"And  if  that  isn't  Barbara  to  the  letter!"  Bess 
Grayley  said  to  herself,  "  refuses  to  marry  Galton, — 
I  haven't  any  doubt  he's  asked  her  a  hundred  times  — 
but  keeps  him  devoted  and  tries  her  best  to  hook 
Conger  Howe  also !  " 

The  man  back  there  at  Myrick's  did  not  replace  the 
picture.  He  sat  on  the  ground  and  braided  three  long 
blades  of  beach  grass,  but  his  mind  was  not  on  his 
work.  The  sun  went  down  red,  and  was  swallowed  in 
a  hazy  mist,  blue-grey,  shooting  out  long  bands  of 
purple  and  orange  to  north  and  south.  A  bat  circled 
round  and  darted  at  something  just  above  the  man's 
head.  A  chill  of  autumn  was  in  the  air.  The  heavy 
doors  were  swung  to,  and  fastened  with  a  padlock,  and 
in  the  dusk  a  man  was  going  slowly  towards  the  village. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

Mrs.  Gragg  was  alone  in  her  kitchen.  It  was  her 
day  for  baking,  and  the  stove  was  contrary.  That 
meant  that  the  wind  had  gone  into  the  no'theast. 
Coax  it  as  you  would,  that  stove  wouldn't  draw  with 
the  wind  in  the  no'theast,  and  Mrs.  Gragg  was  afraid 
that  her  bread  and  two  loaves  of  cake  and  two  pies 
would  be  ruined.  And  here  was  Galton  coming  down 
for  the  first  time  in  two  weeks!  Galton  always  said 
nothing  that  he  could  get  in  Boston  compared  with 
her  cooking.  That  was  one  of  the  joys  of  doing  her 
own  work  when  the  captain  begged  her  to  give  it  up 
and  hire  help. 

Some  one  rapped  on  the  back  door.  "  Come  in," 
she  called  and,  like  her  husband  at  the  wheel  during  a 
storm,  never  stirred  from  her  post.  Her  helm  was 
the  poker,  and  with  its  judicious  use  she  was  guiding 
the  good  old  stove  by  a  sort  of  dead  reckoning  known 
to  all  great  cooks. 

Conger  Howe,  stepping  in  out  of  the  wind,  found 
her  on  her  knees  before  the  grate.  "  It's  Conger,"  he 
said  taking  a  comfortable  seat  in  the  big  rocker  by 
the  window.  "  Glad  to  see  you,"  she  flung  back  over 
her  shoulder,  and  then  for  some  minutes  neither  spoke. 
You  cannot  speak  and  navigate  a  cranky  stove  in  a 
gale  without  endangering  her  cargo.  And  Conger 
Howe,  to  whom  housework  had  been  the  lightest  por- 

i33 


134      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

tion  of  childhood,  understanding  the  danger,  the  strug- 
gle for  supremacy,  the  necessity  for  coolness  and  vigi- 
lance, sat  and  rocked. 

When  the  present  danger  was  past,  and  the  stove 
was  drawing  properly,  Mrs.  Gragg  rose  from  her  knees 
and  sat  where  she  could  keep  an  eye  on  her  guest,  the 
other  on  her  compass,  which  in  this  case  was  the  front 
of  the  grate. 

"  I  am  going  to-morrow,"  Conger  said,  and  she 
nodded,  evidently  expecting  it.  "  I  sail  from  New 
York,  but  I  want  to  be  sure  that  those  who  need  me 
shall  be  cared  for  between  now  and  next  summer  when 
I  return." 

"  I'll  see  to  it  as  I  promised,"  the  good  woman  an- 
swered, smiling  at  the  young  man  so  unlike  her  own, 
yet  so  dear  to  her.  "  But  you  ought  not  to  do  it. 
You'll  be  in  debt,  and  then  Mrs.  Thornton  — " 

"  Yes,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gragg,  I  know.  She  would 
say  '  I  have  told  you  so.'  And  my  dear  kind  major 
would  feel  very  badly  and  would  pay  my  bills.  But  I 
have  counted  the  cost  and  — "  Here  he  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  letter  which  he  gave  her  to  read.  The  mil- 
lionaire who  wanted  to  own  a  Felix  fitron  had  been 
willing  to  pay  the  price,  and  his  check  had  been  en- 
closed. "  Ten  per  cent,  you  see?  "  and  he  counted  out 
and  passed  her  five  hundred  dollars. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  only  pauperizing  a  worthless  lot," 
the  little  woman  temporized,  wishing  that  Conger 
would  be  less  lavish  and  more  reasonable,  if  he  must 
give  away  his  money  as  fast  as  he  earned  it. 

"  But,  my  dear  Mrs.  Gragg,"  he  insisted,  "  one  can- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       135 

not  at  least  pauperize  a  nameless  dog.  I  want  his 
license  paid  again  in  case  I  shouldn't  get  back  in  time. 
I  want  to  know  that  he  has  enough  to  eat  and  a  warm 
place  to  sleep.  Cy  Small  will  see  to  all  that  if  he 
knows  that  his  own  portion  is  conditional  upon  it." 

"  Why  don't  you  give  the  poor  brute  a  name  if  you 
take  such  pains  to  look  out  for  it  ?  " 

"  You  wouldn't  understand,"  he  explained,  and 
when  she  repeated  the  conversation  to  Galton  she 
said :  "  I  understood  so  well  I  wanted  to  take  the 
dear,  tender-hearted,  nameless  boy  in  my  arms  and 
hug  him." 

When  the  town's  poor  were  surely  provided  with 
fuel  for  the  winter,  and  he  felt  safe  about  the  yellow 
dog,  something  still  remained  to  be  done,  something 
concerning  which  he  felt  shy  even  with  the  motherly 
Mrs.  Gragg. 

"  I  have  yet  one  more  request  —  this  must  not  be 
known  to  come  from  me  —  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  ex- 
plain. I  shall  not  try  to  explain,  for  you,  you  whom 
I  love  as  I  love  no  other  woman,  you  will  understand. 
I  wish  that  some  allowance  —  it  need  be  but  little  — 
be  made  for  Relief  Snow.  Life  has  given  her  so 
little,  .so  very  little  for  one  to  whom  Nature  was  so 
kind." 

Mrs.  Gragg  started  to  speak,  to  ask  him  if  he  under- 
stood how  delicate  a  question  this  giving  of  money. 
Then  she  checked  herself.  This  was  Conger  Howe. 
This  was  the  man  who  was  concerned  about  the  hum- 
blest, the  least  attractive  people  in  the  backwoods,  and 
an  outcast  yellow  dog. 


136       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  will  manage  some  way  to  get  it  to  her,  and  if 
she  suspects  who  gave  it  —  why,  that  can  do  no  harm." 

Galton,  arriving  an  hour  later,  was  delighted  to  find 
his  friend  had  been  persuaded  to  stay  to  supper,  and 
the  three  passed  a  cosy  evening  in  intimate  talk  of  plans 
and  hopes.  Mrs.  Gragg  was  radiantly  happy.  "  My 
two  boys !  "  she  exclaimed  when  they  had  done  com- 
paring notes.  "  You  are  as  different  as  " —  and  when 
she  could  think  of  no  comparison  to  suit  her,  Galton 
suggested :  "  brothers."  "  Well,  anyway,"  she  per- 
sisted, "  I  love  you  almost  as  though  you  were 
brothers." 

"  I  am  very  proud,"  Conger  said  quietly,  "  and  I 
can  believe  you  are  sincere,  dear  lady,  because  of  that 
'  almost.'  '  Galton,  who  knew  him  so  well,  winked 
at  his  mother  and  began  to  tell  her  about  the  ride  down. 
Once  before,  when  she  had  spoken  so,  Conger  had  told 
him  how  his  heart  had  struggled  to  come  up  and  thank 
her. 

"  So  you're  going  back  to  Paris,"  he  continued,  when 
Conger  had  had  time  to  recover.  "  I  begin  to  see  a 
light  on  that  crazy  notion  you  once  propounded:  that 
you  were  going  to  be  a  professional  amateur.  It 
sounded  like  spending  your  life  enjoying  the  fruits  of 
other  people's  labor.  In  a  way,  a  legitimate  way,  that 
is  what  you  and  I  are  both  doing.  Only  one  is  never 
classified  as  a  lover  of  securities,  however  true  it  may 
be,  but  only  of  works  of  art.  But  I  say,  old  man, 
don't  for  goodness'  sake  neglect  your  own  talent  — 
talent  may  be  too  strong  a  term  for  it,  but  you  have 
real  ability.  Has  he  never  shown  you  any  of  his 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      137 

drawings,  mother  ?  "  She  shook  her  head.  "  Well, 
he  needn't  be  ashamed  of  'em.  And  I  know  you  have 
done  a  lot  of  painting  down  there  at  Myrick's." 

"Please!"  Conger  protested.  "I  am  fond  of  it. 
I  work  at  it.  Perhaps,  some  day  —  there  is  much  time 
ahead  —  let  us  say  no  more  of  that." 

"  It  is  modesty,  mother,"  Galton  declared.  "  You 
keep  plugging  away,  Conger.  Don't  you  give  your 
life  to  selling  other  people's  pictures.  I  tell  you,  the 
day  might  come  when  the  name  of  Conger  Howe 
would  command  a  price  of  itself." 

"  It  never  will,  my  dear  Galton,"  Conger  said ;  "  so 
long  as  I  can  get  the  Felix  fitrons  there  is  more  for  me 
in  selling  one  of  those  than  in  a  dozen  poor  daubs  by 
C.  Howe." 

The  season  was  ended  at  Waquanesett.  All  the 
summer  people  had  gone,  and  now  Conger  Howe's  de- 
parture for  Paris  left  the  village  conscience  clear  of  the 
guilt  of  subsisting  upon  imported  money,  for  all  were 
gone  who  were  even  tainted  with  the  odium  of  being 
outsiders,  and  for  at  least  six  months  Waquanesett  was 
about  to  live  upon  itself.  And  while  a  choice  few  of 
its  citizens  breathed  a  sigh  of  relief,  Conger  Howe  on 
the  deck  of  a  ship  was  reviewing  things  that  had  be- 
fallen him  in  Waquanesett.  Prominent  among  these 
memories  was  a  Sunday  afternoon,  a  golden  head  that 
his  hand  had  stroked,  blue  eyes  that  looked  into  his  as 
with  uplifted  hand  their  owner  had  said:  "I  never 
will." 

It  must  be  admitted  that  this  memory  of  Miss  Gray- 
ley  was  distinctly  pleasant,  that  if  the  truth  were  told 


138       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

no  girl  had  ever  made  that  sort  of  impression  on  him 
before,  and  that  he  found  that  portion  of  it  a  delightful 
experience  to  look  back  upon.  For  the  disturbing  part 
of  the  interview  she  had  given  her  word  never  to  tell. 
He  also  had  her  secret  in  his  keeping,  reposed  there 
voluntarily.  Another  mystery  revealed  to  him  on  the 
same  occasion  was  the  hitherto  unknown  quality  known 
as  magnetism.  He  now  knew  that  to  be  physical 
charm ;  it  was  still  subtle,  but  he  was  beginning  to  un- 
derstand it. 

That  his  absence  should  seriously  affect  any  one 
would  have  surprised  him;  that  his  deserted  studio 
should  become  a  shrine  would  have  amazed  him.  It 
is  as  well,  therefore,  that  he  did  not  see  the  figure  that 
lay  prone  upon  the  dead  grass  in  front  of  the  heavy 
closed  doors  the  day  after  his  departure. 

She  looked  so  young  and  so  beautiful,  despite  her 
shabby  clothes,  that  he  must  have  lifted  her  up  and 
been  kind  to  her  from  sheer  pity.  Her  eyes  were  red 
with  weeping;  sobs  shook  her  slender  body  with  their 
violent  convulsion;  her  fingers  clutched  and  held  the 
withered  grass  that  told  the  story  of  a  summer  that  was 
dead.  No  word  escaped  her  lips,  but  in  her  heart  the 
storm  of  passion  beat  madly,  madly  because  hopelessly. 
Her  soul  was  on  the  rocks,  and  the  pilot  had  aban- 
doned her. 

"  I  shall  see  you  again  before  I  go,"  he  had  said  that 
last  day,  on  this  very  spot.  And  then  he  had  come  to 
the  house  to  say  good-by,  and  her  mother  had  shaken 
hands  with  him,  and  her  father  had  kept  out  of  the 
way  because  he  was  afraid  to  make  trouble  before 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       139 

mother,  and  then  he  had  shaken  hands  with  her  just 
as  he  had  with  mother,  and  walked  out !  Not  a  word 
alone  —  for  her  to  cherish  forever.  He  liked  her 
and  mother  just  the  same.  "If  he  only  knew  how 
I'd  love  to  die  for  him!  "  Her  heart  uttered  that  cry; 
then  something  warm  and  moist  brushed  one  of  her 
out-stretched  hands;  it  lapped  her  tear-stained  cheek, 
and  looking  up  she  saw  the  yellow  dog.  Instantly  that 
which  had  drawn  him  to  her,  to  comfort  her  with  his 
generous  sympathy,  drew  her  also  to  him,  and  she  threw 
her  arms  about  him  and  buried  her  face  in  his  neck. 

Never  before  had  these  two  been  considerate  of  each 
other;  jealousy  had  held  them  apart.  Now  the  com- 
mon sorrow  brought  them  close  together.  The  yellow 
dog  tried  his  best  with  his  stump  of  a  tail  to  tell  her 
that  the  past  was  forgotten.  He  lay  down  that  his 
rough  coat  might  be  her  pillow.  His  master  was  no- 
where to  be  found,  but  in  his  loneliness  he  had  dis- 
covered a  new  friend. 

That  same  day  in  Boston  Miss  Bess  Grayley  began  a 
campaign  having  for  its  object  the  happy  union  of  two 
kindred  souls,  hers  and  Conger  Howe's.  It  was  not 
the  ill-considered  act  of  impulse.  Long  had  Miss 
Grayley  pondered,  and  each  time  her  conclusion  was  the 
same :  she  and  Conger  Howe  were  made  for  each  other. 
The  picture  that  he  was  "  touching  up  "  to  make  it  look 
like  Myrick's, —  why,  what  did  that  prove  except  that 
he  was  human?  She  would  have  done  it  without  a 
pang.  It  only  proved  that  he  wasn't  above  her.  He 
was  human  and  she  was  human,  true  as  steel  —  up  to  a 
certain  point.  So,  instead  of  lowering  him,  that  in- 


140       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

cident  rather  raised  him  in  her  eyes.  She  could  under- 
stand it.  And  didn't  the  very  fact  that  she  knew 
bind  them  to  each  other  as  few  things  could?  De- 
sirability and  fitness  being  thus  favorably  disposed  of, 
the  only  question  was  how  to  make  him  love  her.  She 
was  wise  enough  to  have  seen  that  the  touch  of  her 
hair,  the  intimacy  of  stroking  it,  had  thrilled  him.  He 
was  a  battery  of  emotions,  if  he  did  but  know  it. 
Why  shouldn't  she,  who  had  discovered  it,  profit  by  it 
before  he  should  understand  himself?  For,  to  tell  the 
truth,  Miss  Grayley  saw  clearly  enough  that,  if  he  had 
that  complete  understanding  of  himself  which  comes 
only  by  experience,  he  might  not  choose  her  for  his 
wife.  Day  and  night  she  gave  herself  up  to  this  pas- 
sion until  nothing  else  in  life  seemed  to  her  worth 
while,  and  she  had  evolved  a  plan  that  must  start  at 
once  and  come  to  a  climax  the  following  summer. 
First,  having  learned  his  Paris  address,  she  would 
write  him  chatty,  friendly  little  letters,  not  many,  but 
full  of  news  and  a  subtle  suggestion  of  intimacy. 
Galton  came  next  in  the  scheme ;  she  asked  him  to  call. 
They  had  been  good  friends  for  years.  The  note 
merely  stated :  "  I  want  to  see  you,"  but  that  was 
enough.  He  came  next  day.  She  looked  very  fresh 
and  pretty  in  her  soft  grey  house-dress  as  she  sat 
there,  pouring  the  tea. 

"  You  take  two  lumps,"  she  said,  dropping  them 
into  the  cup. 

"  Now,  how  did  you  remember  that,  Bess  ?  " 
"  Nothing  the  least  bit  strange  about  it,"  she  an- 
swered, passing  him  the  cup  and  a  plate  with  little 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       141 

cakes  such  as  he  particularly  liked.  "  You  are  one 
of  my  best  friends.  That's  why  I  sent  for  you.  I 
want  to  make  you  and  Barbara  happy." 

"Barbara?     I'm  a  little  out  of  patience  with  her." 

"  And  I  don't  blame  you,  but  it  isn't  her  fault.  She 
imagines  that  she's  getting  fond  of  Conger  Howe." 

"  O  Bess !  Never !  Why,  Conger  never  looks  at  a 
girl." 

"  I  didn't  say  he  had  anything  to  do  with  it,  but  I 
know  Barbara,  and  she  has  been  romancing  about  him 
until  she  begins  to  imagine  herself  interested.  Now 
is  the  time  to  nip  that  sort  of  thing  in  the  bud.  They 
are  utterly  unsuited  to  each  other.  I  am  going  to  see 
Barbara  and  tell  her  some  facts  that  will  make  that 
plain  to  her." 

"  I  had  an  idea  that  you  and  she  weren't  quite  so 
intimate  as  —  well,  as  you  used  to  be." 

"  Quite  true,"  she  admitted,  spreading  out  her  white 
hands  to  show  him  all  they  held,  "  and  now  you  see  the 
reason." 

He  looked  at  her  hands  a  moment  as  though  trying 
to  make  out  what  it  was  that  they  offered  him. 

"  Oh !  "  he  exclaimed  finally,  "  I  see :  you  want  Con- 
ger for  yourself !  " 

"  That's  tactless  and  rude !  "  she  retorted,  blushing 
crimson.  "  I  never  intimated  anything  of  the  sort. 
All  I  wanted  was  that  he  should  be  left  free  to  choose 
for  himself,  and  not  be  flirted  with  by  a  girl  who  never 
would  marry  him,  and  who  ought  to  marry  you  —  as 
she  will  in  the  end." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,"   Galton  conceded ;  "  I 


142      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

didn't  mean  to  be  rude  —  crude,  may  be,  but  not  rude  — 
so  you'll  forgive  me,  Bess,  and  we'll  start  over  again." 

She  looked  up  and  smiled  her  forgiveness.  "  If  I 
make  it  plain  to  Barbara  that  it  isn't  fair  to  flirt  with 
a  man  like  him,  I  shall  be  doing  two  of  my  best  friends 
a  good  turn.  At  least,  that's  the  way  it  looked  to  me. 
If  I'm  wrong — " 

"  Why,  of  course  you're  not  wrong,"  Galton  broke 
in  with  a  warmth  that  showed  he  welcomed  her  inter- 
cession. Surely  his  cause  needed  help. 

"  Then  say  nothing  to  her  about  this  conversation. 
Not  a  word  —  just  let  things  take  their  course,  but 
don't  be  tactless  and  interfere.  One  more  thing  —  I 
hesitate  to  say  it  —  in  fact  it's  an  awful  thing  to  say." 

"  Do  you  mean  it's  something  else  to  do  with  me,  a 
criticism  or  a  suggestion?  If  so,  don't  be  squeamish; 
just  fire  away." 

"  I  think  if  you  should  overcome  your  New  England 
thrift  a  little  more,  spend  some  money  on  her;  flowers, 
theatre  — " 

"  Just  loosen  up,  as  it  were,"  he  added,  helping  her 
in  the  difficult  suggestion.  She  nodded,  glad  of  not 
being  obliged  to  say  more. 

"  Hm !  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  You  women  do 
beat  the  devil.  Come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  believe  I 
ever  spent  a  nickel  on  her." 

"  Not  a  nickel,"  she  agreed,  and  that  made  him 
serious. 

"  Damn  me  if  I  don't  send  her  some  flowers  now! 
Bess,  you're  a  trump!  I  didn't  even  know  the  rudi- 
ments." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

To  influence  Barbara  was  a  harder  problem.  Bess 
knew  that  she  had  lost  ground  there,  that  she  was 
sometimes  even  distrusted;  that  the  old  days  of  per- 
fect confidence  had  ended  when  they  began  to  be  at- 
tracted to  the  same  man.  Because  it  was  a  harder 
problem  it  must  be  handled  more  carefully,  more 
adroitly,  less  openly. 

The  first  time  she  called,  other  girls  were  there. 
None  was  gayer,  more  appreciative  of  Barbara,  than 
was  Bess  Grayley.  It  was  like  the  old  times,  and  Bar- 
bara felt  it  strangely,  keenly,  because  conscience  was 
asking  whether  she  had  been  quite  fair  to  Bess.  At 
the  next  attempt  Barbara  was  alone,  and  Bess  once 
more  outdid  herself  in  sweetness.  When  a  favorable 
opening  came  she  introduced  her  subject  so  naturally 
and  easily  that  it  seemed  accidental.  "  My  dear,  you 
know  how  I've  run  on  about  my  hobby :  Blood  will  tell. 
Just  before  we  left  Waquanesett  I  had  the  shock  of 
my  life.  Of  course  I  knew  Conger  Howe  was  half 
Chinese,  but — " 

"  He  isn't !  "  Barbara  cried,  then  checking  herself : 
"  I  mean  —  I  never  heard  anything  of  the  sort.  I 
knew  he  lived  — " 

"  Why,  my  dear,  what  else  is  he?  His  father  was 
a  Chinaman  and  his  mother  —  heaven  knows  what  she 
was." 


144      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Barbara  was  trying  to  get  used  to  this  news  and 
made  no  reply  other  than  to  look  shocked. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  to  us,"  she  got  out  finally,  "  what 
his  parents  were  —  we  know  what  he  is." 

"  Yes,  that's  the  worst  of  it.  When  I  discovered 
that  the  yellow  streak  was  there,  and  no  mistake  — 
but  I  haven't  any  right  to  say  that  —  perhaps  you 
wouldn't  think  so." 

Barbara  was  so  startled  by  the  announcement  of 
Conger's  parentage  that  she  scarcely  heard.  Bess  sat 
and  watched;  when  her  hostess  came  out  from  her 
hiding  she  was  ready  to  pounce  again. 

When  Barbara  asked :  "  What  gave  you  any  such 
idea?" 

"Any  such  idea  as  what?"  she  countered. 

"  That  he  ever  showed  what  you  call  a  yellow 
streak?" 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  put  it  so  badly  as  that,  and  I 
hadn't  any  notion  of  telling  even  you;  but  now  that 
we're  on  it  I  will  tell  you  only  what  I  know.  One  day 
when  I  was  down  there  at  Myrick's  he  happened  to  be 
working  on  a  picture  that  looked  like  that  very  spot 
at  dawn  or  twilight, —  anyway,  dim  light  —  and  a  girl 
going  down  the  bank.  It  looked  old,  but  he  was  put- 
ting touches  of  color  on  it,  and  I  happened  to  ask  what 
it  was.  You  should  have  seen  his  face!  And,  my 
dear,  he  swore  me  to  secrecy,  not  to  tell  a  mortal  soul. 
Now  what,  I  ask  you,  what  was  he  doing  that  he  was 
ashamed  of?  " 

"  But,  Bess,  he  swore  you  to  secrecy,  yet  you  have 
told  already." 


145 

"  Only  you,  Bar !'"  That  was  her  pet  name  for 
Barbara,  and  she  had  a  charming  little  way  of  saying 
it. 

Twice  Barbara  started  to  .say  something.  Each 
time  she  thought  better  of  it.  You  couldn't  explain 
it.  If  it  was  not  important  why  swear  Bess  to  secrecy? 
Was  it,  as  Bess  put  it,  the  yellow  showing  through? 

With  fine  diplomacy  Miss  Grayley  soon  went  on  to 
talk  of  other  people  and  things.  If  she  dwelt  too  long 
on  Conger  Howe  Barbara  would  begin  to  suspect  a 
motive ;  it  must  be  casual,  as  lightly  dropped  as  it  had 
been  touched  upon.  In  leaving,  all  her  interest  was 
centred  upon  knowing  whether  skirts  were  to  be  worn 
fuller  in  the  spring,  as  some  of  the  dressmakers  in- 
sisted. 

"  You  see,  my  dear,"  she  said,  as  a  parting  word, 
"  it  wouldn't  mean  much  to  a  girl  as  rich  as  you  are, 
but  on  the  limited  income  of  Pa  Grayley  —  well,  if  I 
have  to  throw  away  last  summer's  clothes,  it  will  be  a 
tragedy ! " 

Barbara  thought  over  this  interview  and  its  revela- 
tions many  times,  but  always  with  a  shudder.  There 
was  in  it  something  so  vulgar  —  the  sort  of  thing  that 
cropped  out  in  the  children  when  a  girl  married  her 
father's  chauffeur.  There  was  a  case  like  that  — 
they  all  knew  the  children  —  only  the  chauffeur  then 
was  a  coachman. 

It  was  disappointing  anyway.  But  she  was  glad 
that  she  hadn't  got  any  more  deeply  interested.  On 
second  thought  she  had  to  admit  that  she  might  have. 
He  was  so  appealing;  that  quiet  solemn  way  was  so 


146      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

different,  and  his  dark  eyes !  Ugh !  Those  dark  eyes 
and  that  dark  skin  —  why  hadn't  she  thought  of  it ! 

And  just  then  it  happened  that  Galton  Gragg  had 
broken  out  without  warning  as  a  liberal,  almost  a 
lavish,  spender.  Flowers,  great  boxes  of  American 
Beauties,  with  the  longest  stems,  too !  What  could  it 
mean?  What,  unless  it  meant  that  Galton  had  been 
willing  to  change  his  very  nature  to  please  her!  He 
who  had  always  held  back  and  let  Conger  pay  the  bills 
when  they  stopped  at  tea-houses  in  the  summer,  he 
whom  Bess  had  often  behind  his  back  called  Mr. 
Tightwad,  he  had  seen  the  error  of  his  ways,  and  was 
reformed  to  please  her.  Because  Barbara  was  a 
woman,  this  attention  pleased  her;  because  she  was 
merely  human  its  continuance  went  far  towards  that 
surrender  for  which  Galton  had  waited  so  patiently. 

If  he  had  known  that  that  surrender  was  being  pre- 
pared for  him  by  a  betrayal  of  Conger  Howe's  confi- 
dence or  a  misrepresentation  of  his  parentage,  Galton 
would  not  for  one  moment  have  been  willing  to  profit 
by  it.  Not  to  play  fair  was  to  Galton  Gragg,  as  it  is 
to  every  real  man,  the  vilest  sin.  He  did  not  know; 
and  Miss  Grayley  and  the  roses,  theatre  parties  and  a 
general  air  of  liberality  were  carrying  Barbara  on 
their  tide  setting  all  the  time  in  his  direction. 

Many  a  true  woman  is  influenced  by  attentions  of 
that  sort  and  not  a  few  are  in  the  end  bought  by  them. 
It  isn't  their  fault  that  they  are  human.  Barbara  was 
merely  growing  up,  learning  by  experience  what  life 
is  and  what  its  possibilities,  but  she  was  not  going 
ahead  blindly.  Every  day  she  reviewed  the  steps  that 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       147 

had  led  her  to  her  present  position ;  every  day  she  tried 
to  picture  herself  as  Mrs.  Galton  Gragg,  and  always 
before  she  was  through  with  it,  her  future  became  more 
and  more  hazy. 

"  Some  women  are  unfitted  to  be  wives,  to  lose  their 
identity  in  that  of  the  men  they  might  marry  —  and 
I'm  one  of  that  sort,"  she  would  say  to  herself  after 
such  communing,  and  then  almost  immediately  would 
follow :  "  I  wonder  —  perhaps  it's  only  fear  —  and 
any  girl  would  be  proud  of  Galton." 

Meantime  Conger,  working  away  in  Paris,  had  a 
far  harder  task  in  trying  to  understand  American  girls 
in  general  and  two  in  particular.  The  devotion  of  Re- 
lief Snow  —  that  was  friendship  and  would  be  just 
the  same  if  she  were  a  boy,  so  that  didn't  need  any  con- 
templation and  adjustment,  but  the  other  two  —  it  was 
all  so  different  from  China,  and  after  all  wasn't  it 
better  as  they  did  things  there,  to  have  a  girl's  parents 
choose  for  her  some  eligible  spouse?  Surely  the  par- 
ents were  wiser  than  their  children  and  the  girl  would 
get  a  better  husband  —  perhaps. 

Then  would  come  up  this  new  question:  whether  it 
wasn't  asking  too  much  of  a  woman  that  she  should 
be  a  sprightly  and  accomplished  companion,  a  house- 
keeper, and  the  mother  of  one's  children.  The  old 
civilization  of  China  had  long  since  given  its  verdict 
that  the  trinity  was  impossible. 

Thinking  the  way  of  Americans  was  far  harder  than 
thinking  in  their  language.  Here  before  him  lay  a 
letter  from  Galton.  It  was  eloquent  of  love  —  his 
love  for  Barbara  and  hers  for  him.  Conger  read  it 


I48       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

over  and  over  again,  not  because  it  was  so  fine,  but 
Galton  was  so  sure  of  himself.  He  wrote  of  the 
sacredness  of  a  boy's  love  for  father  and  mother. 
Conger  had  never  known  what  that  meant.  The  letter 
went  on  to  speak  of  "  your  first  very  dear  friend." 
His  had  been  "  Brother,"  the  little  donkey  back  there  in 
Peking.  Of  all  his  new  friends  the  yellow  dog  came 
first  in  his  heart.  No,  it  was  useless  —  he  could  never 
get  Galton's  point  of  view. 

But  he  was  lonely;  his  whole  life  had  been  lonely  and 
he  knew  he  was  capable  of  very  strong  affection. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  once  more  he  was  a  boy; 
once  more  he  winced  as  he  recalled  the  harsh  blows 
of  the  bamboo  cane  on  his  bare  back.  Ah,  he  had  it 
now!  One  of  the  many  beatings  had  been  due  to  a 
little  girl  with  ragged  clothes  and  bare  feet,  like  his 
own,  and  a  rippling  smile  like  Barbara's.  How  it  all 
came  back!  The  dust  in  front  of  the  great  Lama 
Temple  —  beggars,  blind  men,  blue  cotton  clothes,  the 
cries  of  street  vendors,  the  creaking  wheel-barrows  of 
the  water-sellers,  the  pungent  smell  of  Chinamen,  the 
greasy  smell  of  greasy  food,  the  foul  smell  of  the 
great  city !  He  saw  other  barelegged  urchins  like  him- 
self, and  the  vision  of  the  evil-eyed,  leering  priest  of 
Lama.  For  one  instant  his  hand  had  fallen  from  the 
back  of  the  'rickshaw,  and  the  Rat,  looking  back,  had 
seen  him  forsaking  his  post,  had  seen  the  sudden  charge 
with  which  he  had  sent  the  dirty  priest  sprawling  on 
his  back.  But  the  Rat  hadn't  seen  the  shy,  grateful 
smile  with  which  the  girl  had  rewarded  him,  a  smile 
that  started  at  the  corners  of  her  eyes,  spread  down- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       149 

ward  to  her  pretty  mouth  and  ended  in  a  boy's  heart ! 

And  Barbara's  smile  was  like  that  —  he  was  only  a 
boy  then  —  now  he  was  a  man.  How  very  little  dif- 
ference deep  down  in  one's  own  heart  between  being  a 
boy  and  being  a  man ! 

He  wondered  whether  real  Americans  were  ever  con- 
scious of  marking  time,  shillyshallying  while  life  went 
on  all  about  them.  Did  these  other  people  go  straight 
for  their  goal,  did  they  know  what  their  goal  was,  or 
was  it  a  part  of  life  to  drift  until  you  brought  up  some- 
where in  some  bend  of  the  stream? 


CHAPTER  XIX 

Down  at  Waquanesett,  after  an  unusually  hard  win- 
ter, the  spring  came  early.  Even  in  April  the  robins 
and  song  sparrows  were  building;  the  meadows  were 
dry  enough  for  planting ;  the  wood-roads  were  passable 
and  sweet  with  arbutus  and  violets.  Off  on  the  hill- 
sides the  horses,  bowing  their  necks,  tramped  fetlock 
deep  in  last  year's  furrows,  while  the  shining  plow  be- 
hind them  cut  through  the  heavy  earth,  curling  it  in 
long,  dark  waves  from  its  prow,  turning  up  its  chemi- 
cal stores  of  energy  that  sun  and  rain  might  give  them 
life.  The  birds,  the  blossoms,  the  very  earth  sang 
of  spring.  Is  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  Relief  Snow, 
who  was  young  and  fair  and  overflowing  with  life, 
should  also  sing?  And  what  more  natural  song  for 
youth  and  spring  than  the  song  of  love,  the  eternally 
recurring  theme!  Relief  Snow  knew  nothing  of  Men- 
delssohn or  the  other  writers  of  spring  songs,  but  she 
knew  the  throbbing  song  of  the  bird  to  his  mate.  She 
knew  also  that  birds  and  spring  and  love  were  a  trinity, 
miraculous,  heavenly  and  inseparable.  And  because 
she  knew  no  songs  of  love  save  those  in  the  Baptist 
hymnal  she  first  tried  to  express  her  emotion  in  a 
verse  of  "  Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul ! "  When  this 
came  down  by  way  of  the  back  stairs  to  the  kitchen 
where  Mrs.  Snow  and  Mary  M.  were  at  work,  they 
stood  and  looked  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

150 


IN  THE  SHADOWOF  LANTERN  STREET      151 

"  You  don't  think  Rill  has  got  religion,  do  you, 
Ma  ?  "  Mary  M.  asked,  as  the  voice  upstairs  began  on 
"  Love  divine,  all  love  excelling." 

"  I  wisht  she  had,"  her  mother  answered,  listening 
with  pride  to  the  fresh  and  joyous  tones  of  the  singer, 
"  but  I  ain't  cherishin'  no  sech  hopes  o'  Relief." 

Apparently  Relief  had  exhausted  her  repertoire,  for, 
after  a  brief  interval  of  silence,  she  began  improvising 
on  the  theme :  "  I  love  my  love."  Her  song  declared 
that  she  loved  her  love  up  the  scale  and  down  the  scale, 
in  arpeggio  and  cadenza,  and  in  many  other  florid 
forms  not  known  to  orthodox  musical  composition. 
Her  mother  looked  hard  at  Mary  M.  and  said :  "  I 
thought  so.  Hers  ain't  the  holy  kind."  The  sauce- 
pan that  she  had  just  lifted  from  the  stove  was  set 
back  with  a  bang  and,  going  to  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
she  called  in  a  voice  to  discourage  any  and  all  music : 
"Ri-ull!  Ri-ull!  You  quit  that  caterwaulin' !  If 
you  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  you  better  come  down  an' 
help  us." 

Hurried  feet  came  clattering  to  the  top  of  the  stairs, 
and  Relief's  voice  called :  "  I'm  workin'  on  my  dress, 
Ma.  Where's  father?" 

"  He's  out  to  the  barnd,"  her  mother  answered,  far 
more  gently.  The  clattering  footsteps  retreated  once 
more  to  the  bedroom;  once  more  the  song  of  love 
poured  forth,  while  the  dark  young  head  bent  over  its 
task,  and  the  busy  fingers  fashioned  a  wondrous  gown 
designed  to  welcome  back  the  tenant  of  Myrick's  barn, 
who  also  was  the  tenant  of  Relief  Snow's  heart  and 
the  subject  and  inspiration  of  her  song. 


152      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

She  had  never  asked  Dr.  Boon  the  source  of  the 
five  dollars  which  the  good  man  brought  her  each 
month.  He  had  said  the  first  time :  "  It's  a  little 
legacy  turned  over  to  me  to  pay  over  to  you,"  and  her 
eyes  had  filled  with  tears  as  she  turned  away  with  the 
money  in  her  hand.  Who  else  would  send  her  money  ? 
Who  else  in  the  world  cared  whether  she  had  money  or 
happiness;  whether  she  lived  or  died?  And  she  had 
saved  it  all  to  buy  a  dress  that  should  surprise  him 
when  he  came  next  summer.  The  store  in  Waquane- 
sett  had  nothing  in  fabrics  that  could  satisfy  her,  but 
the  next  town,  five  miles  away,  offered  far  greater 
inducements,  as  distant  towns  always  do.  The  ten- 
mile  walk  was  nothing  if  you  could  bring  back  under 
your  arm  enough  purple  cotton  cloth  to  make  a  dress, 
with  yellow  moons  all  over  it  that  fairly  jumped  at 
you.  It  was  very  lovely  in  Relief's  eyes ;  and  she  saw 
herself  the  envy  of  the  summer  folks  when  she  should 
appear  in  it  to  welcome  the  only  one  who  mattered. 
If  he  liked  it,  the  others  might  go  hang.  "  Noses  in 
the  air  just  because  they  wear  high-heeled  shoes  and 
lacy  shirt-waists!  Who  cares?"  That  was  her  fine 
independence  as  she  sewed  and  sang.  Usually  she 
had  cared  a  great  deal,  and  many  a  night  her  tears  had 
fallen  unheeded  as  she  undressed  and  sat  on  the  edge 
of  her  bed  while  she  contrasted  her  lot  with  theirs. 
But  now  the  singing  went  on  uninterrupted ;  this  morn- 
ing her  heart  was  full  of  thanksgiving  to  whatever  it 
was  that  made  the  spring  and  youth  and  love  and  beau- 
tiful purple  cloth  radiant  with  yellow  moons.  Father 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       153 

was  out  in  the  barn,  and  couldn't  hear.  Mother  never 
meant  anything  when  she  scolded.  There  was  that 
awful  time  when  they  knew  the  baby  was  coming!  At 
thought  of  it  the  singing  ceased  abruptly;  a  shudder 
ran  its  course  over  the  slender  shoulders ;  two  big  tears 
dropped  on  the  edge  of  one  of  the  bright  yellow  moons, 
and  the  purple  spread,  threatening  an  eclipse. 

"  Father  was  so  hard  —  p'raps  he  never  did  any- 
thing himself !  "  the  girl  muttered.  "  Can't  fool  me. 
I've  watched  him;  they're  all  alike!  No,  they  ain't, 
either.  He  ain't  like  that,  for  one." 

And  the  one  in  Relief's  mind  was  so  potent  for  joy 
that  once  more  her  song  rang  out,  and  the  sad  past  was 
forgotten. 

The  style  had  changed  many  times  since  Butterick 
had  issued  the  pattern  by  which  she  wrought,  but  to 
Relief  Snow  the  Mother  Hubbard  was  the  very  acme 
of  style.  As  a  restraint,  to  curb  its  voluminous  pro- 
portions, she  had  recourse  to  a  sash  which,  drawn  tight 
about  her  waist,  did  much  to  display  a  figure  that  had 
never  yet  known  the  indignity  of  a  corset.  The  -try- 
ing on  was  very  satisfactory.  By  standing  on  a  chair 
she  could  see  in  her  mirror  the  skirt  down  to  her  knees. 
Just  how  it  hung  below  that  was  of  little  consequence ; 
the  neck  was  the  most  important,  and  it  required  a 
couple  of  gathers  to  get  that  finally  to  stay  where  it  be- 
longed. But  it  delighted  Relief  when  a  last  scrutiny 
revealed  her  emerging  above  the  draw-string  like  an 
Indian  princess  coming  out  of  a  gorgeous  bag.  Little 
did  she  understand  that  all  the  beauty  was  her  own, 


154  k  IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

which  even  that  barbaric  costume  could  not  quench. 
"  Ri-ull !  "  her  mother  called.  "  Father's  comin'  in, 
and  the  dinner's  dished." 

With  marvellous  rapidity  the  glorious  creation  was 
whisked  off,  the  blue  and  white  checked  gingham  took 
its  place,  and  Relief's  fingers  were  busy  with  buttons 
as  she  slid  into  her  seat  at  table  just  in  time.  Cap'n 
Thoph,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  had  extended  a  hand  on 
each  side  of  the  boiled  ham,  and  had  already  opened 
his  mouth  to  invoke  the  divine  blessing  upon  the  pig's 
joint  and  those  about  to  partake  of  it,  when  he  spied 
the  unbuttoned  dress  and  Relief's  frantic  efforts  to 
complete  her  toilet.  Fixing  her  with  his  eye  he  de- 
manded :  "  Are  we  goin'  to  hev  a  blessin'  said  over 
this  food,  or  ain't  we?  "  Gene  snickered,  and  the  old 
man,  who  believed  in  vicarious  atonement,  laid  the 
whole  burden  of  guilt  on  poor  Relief.  If  he  insisted 
on  her  answer  he  should  have  it,  and  she  flashed  back : 
"  I  don't  see  as  it  matters.  The  dinner  won't  taste 
any  diff'rent,  an'  the  Lord  wouldn't  notice  on  just  one 
ham,  anyway." 

Mary  M.  wanted  to  laugh,  but  a  glance  at  her  mother 
showed  her  this  was  a  fearful  crime.  In  silence  the 
old  man  rose,  seized  his  youngest  by  the  ear,  and  led 
her  from  the  room  in  disgrace.  Back  beside  her  own 
little  bed  she  gazed  down  upon  the  beautiful  purple 
dress  lying  there  as  she  had  dropped  it.  Was  nothing, 
nothing  at  all  in  life  to  be  happy  for  her?  One  little 
glimpse  of  Heaven  she  had  had  as  she  saw  herself  in 
that  gown  only  a  few  minutes  ago,  and  now  a  hungry, 
solitary  afternoon  in  disgrace.  "  Oh,  how  I  hate  them 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       155 

all!  Father,  the  hypocrite!  Haven't  I  heard  him 
swear  hundreds  of  times  like  a  trooper !  Him  and  his 
blessing!  The  idea  of  him  yankin'  me  out  as  though 
I  was  ten !  I'll  get  even  with  yer  yet,  old  man !  "  She 
sank  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed,  and  there  in  sight 
of  her  proud  handiwork,  instead  of  prayers,  poured 
forth  her  soul  in  imprecations  against  fate  and  father 
who  had  combined  together  to  blast  her  slightest  chance 
of  happiness. 

Just  before  it  grew  too  dark  to  see,  she  drew  from 
its  hiding  place  under  a  corner  of  the  carpet  a  letter 
postmarked  two  weeks  ago  at  Tacoma.  When  it  came 
she  had  been  tempted  to  tear  it  up ;  second  thoughts  had 
suggested  that  it  would  do  no  harm  to  keep  it.  Now, 
as  she  re-read  it  carefully,  it  made  her  think  of  the 
little  boat  hung  out  on  the  davits  over  the  side  —  a  last 
resource  in  shipwreck.  It  was  a  better  letter  than  she 
had  thought.  But  her  mind  then  was  full  of  him ;  now 
it  was  father,  and  the  letter  was  greatly  favored  by  the 
new  comparison.  With  far  more  respect  than  before 
she  replaced  it  under  the  carpet.  The  figure  of  the 
little  lifeboat  persisted.  If  fathers  and  fates  were 
cruel,  so  long  as  youth  and  life  lasted  one  might  run 
away  from  them,  and  try  other  fates.  But  then,  he 
would  not  be  there.  She  would  never  even  see  him; 
and  he  would  never  know  how  she  looked  in  the  purple 
dress. 

Some  one  was  lowering  the  lifeboat;  the  tackle  fell 
heavily  on  the  deck ;  overhead  a  hundred  yellow  moons 
came  up  to  shine  in  a  purple  sky,  and  Relief  in  a  huddle 
beside  her  bed  was  sleeping  like  a  tired  child. 


CHAPTER  XX 

Miss  Grayley's  plan  had  worked  admirably;  as  an 
organizer  she  had  shown  such  ability  as  would  have 
made  her  invaluable  to  one  of  the  great  packing  plants. 
No  silly  scruples  had  been  allowed  to  stand  in  her  way. 
If  a  certain  amount  of  deception  had  been  practised, 
the  end  attained  would  surely  justify  it.  Galton  and 
Barbara  had  been  drawn  closer  together  than  ever  be- 
fore; the  announcement  of  their  engagement  might  be 
looked  for  any  day.  "  Dear  Bess  "  was  the  friendly 
superscription  of  Conger  Howe's  letter  which  came 
with  punctilious  regularity  every  fortnight.  Galton 
was  never  a  good  correspondent;  he  was  too  busy  to 
write  letters.  Those  that  he  did  send  were  dictated  to 
a  stenographer,  and  after  acknowledging  the  receipt  of 
two  from  "  Dear  '  Cougar,'  "  went  on  for  half  a  page  to 
explain  that  nothing  was  happening  in  Boston,  that  the 
weather  was  beastly  cold  or  warm  or  wet  or  dry,  that 
certain  things  were  almost  sure  to  happen  soon,  but  of 
such  a  nature  that  evidently  he  didn't  care  to  confide 
them  to  the  young  lady  at  his  elbow.  Then  followed  a 
few  lines  of  plain  padding:  "Of  course,  you  know 
what  Boston  is,  how  she  glories  in  her  provincialisms 
and  thanks  God  that  she  isn't  as  New  York  is."  He 
signed  that  particular  letter  below  the  phrase  "  One  of 
the  Pharasees,"  but  didn't  correct  his  stenographer's 
spelling.  There  wasn't  much  of  a  personal  touch  in 

156 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       157 

such  correspondence.  Conger  always  felt  that  he  was 
replying  to  the  blonde,  and  so  finally  gave  it  up  alto- 
gether. 

After  the  first  few  months,  with  the  exception  of  an 
occasional  letter  to  Major  Thornton  or  the  Thornton 
girls,  Miss  Grayley  was  his  only  correspondent. 
Sometimes  her  letters  hinted  at  the  dark  secrets  they 
shared ;  his  in  reply  never  even  remotely  alluded  to  the 
subject.  His  were  straightforward  accounts  of  daily 
life  in  the  artist  colony  at  Paris,  frequent  comment 
upon  things  and  a  whimsical  half-seriousness  that  was 
like  the  lines  in  his  forehead.  He  was  very  difficult 
to  persuade  in  some  ways;  try  as  she  would,  Miss 
Grayley,  who  had  led  him  by  the  halter  of  affectionate 
solicitude  to  the  water  of  life,  could  not  make  him 
drink.  Even  the  most  direct  questions  as  to  his  feel- 
ing towards  her  were  passed  over  in  silence.  His 
likes  and  dislikes  he  refused  to  analyze. 

She  was,  however,  somewhat  comforted  when  he 
confided  to  her  alone  the  exact  date  of  his  sailing  for 
home  and  the  careful  plans  he  had  laid  for  free  adver- 
tising in  the  press  "  to  the  glory  of  Felix  fitron,  albeit 
to  the  enriching  of  one  Conger  Howe." 

She  was  at  the  dock  to  meet  him,  but  a  large,  florid 
man,  with  much  jewelry,  very  curly  hair  and  the  in- 
gratiating manners  of  a  circus  agent,  surpassed  her 
zeal  and  took  the  edge  off  her  welcome  by  rushing  up 
the  gangplank,  seizing  the  young  man's  hand  in  both 
of  his,  and  establishing  an  appearance  of  ownership 
that  would  ill  become  a  modest  single  woman.  So 
Miss  Grayley  came  in  a  poor  second,  but^Conger  was 


158      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

very  cordial  and  friendly,  introduced  the  florid  gentle- 
man as  Mr.  de  la  Barre,  promised  to  come  and  see  her 
very  soon,  and  did  his  best  to  make  conversation  gen- 
eral while  they  waited  for  the  usual  formalities  of  cus- 
toms officers.  Mr.  de  la  Barre,  however,  had  no  in- 
tention of  allowing  the  young  woman  to  interfere  with 
his  plans,  and  talked  in  French.  This  made  it  ex- 
tremely difficult  for  Miss  Grayley,  who  knew  as  much 
French  as  the  average  American  girl;  she  could  ask 
for  a  glass  of  water  or  her  bill,  could  read  all  that  one 
really  cares  to  read  in  the  menu,  and  all  except  the 
crucial  word  in  the  jokes  of  Vie  Parisienne.  But  they 
talked  so  fast  no  one  could  be  expected  to  follow  such 
gibberish;  it  was  hard  enough  to  keep  up  an  air  of 
intelligent  interest.  And  then,  to  do  her  full  justice, 
she  did  now  and  then  intercept  a  "  bien  "  or  "  com- 
prend,"  even  "  Felix  £tron  "  and  then  she  would  get 
right  into  the  midst  of  things  by  such  nods  of  compre- 
hension that  the  florid  gentleman  was  almost  deceived 
by  them. 

At  last  the  examination  was  finished;  not  so  Mr. 
de  la  Barre,  for  like  the  manager  he  was  there  must 
needs  ensue  a  great  raising  of  hats,  a  lowering  of  hopes, 
and  then  a  waiting  taxi  that  engulfed  the  two  men, 
leaving  behind  Miss  Bess  Grayley  and  a  strong  odor 
of  circus  agents'  favorite  perfume. 

Once  more  the  name  of  Felix  fitron  blazed  in  the 
news  columns  of  the  daily  press.  Ten  of  his  pictures 
were  to  be  sold  at  auction  in  New  York,  and  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  had  already  bid  seventy-five 
hundred  for  first  choice.  One  interview  that  was 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       159 

widely  copied  went  into  the  question  of  how  it  hap- 
pened that  a  young  Bostonian  had  the  rare  good  for- 
tune to  represent  the  great  artist  in  the  United  States. 

"  Mr.  C.  Howe,"  the  article  stated,  "  when  asked 
how  he  secured  the  agency,  explained  that  he  once 
lived  with  Therat,  and  we  infer  that  Felix  fitron  at 
that  time  may  have  studied  also  with  the  same  master. 
This  would  account  for  his  loyalty  to  an  old  friend 
when  competition  is  so  keen,  and  there  are  so  many 
well  known  dealers  in  this  country."  In  writing  out 
this  interview  for  the  reporter  C.  Howe  had  not  ex- 
plained. He  had  told  only  how  he  once  lived  with 
The  Rat,  but  words  are  queer  weapons,  and  Conger 
thought  it  safer  to  be  vague.  One  interviewer,  though 
balked  of  details  concerning  the  great  painter,  thought 
he  might  at  least  give  a  vivid  portrayal  of  his  agent. 

"  In  appearance  Mr.  Howe  is  decidedly  Spanish. 
He  is  often  called  The  Sad  Painter,  for  Mr.  Howe  is 
also  a  painter,  although  his  pictures  thus  far  have  never 
been  offered  for  sale.  It  is  said  among  his  friends  that 
he  never  laughs,  never  was  known  to  take  part  in  any 
sort  of  game  or  sport,  and  that  his  only  recreation  is  a 
change  of  work.  His  long,  slender  hand  when  he 
talks  with  you  is  constantly  brushing  back  from  his 
forehead  a  lock  of  his  black  hair  that  will  not  stay 
brushed  back,  but  otherwise  his  calmness  impresses 
yQU,  and  his  interest  in  whatever  you  have  to  say. 
You  come  away  with  a  feeling  that  you  have  made  a 
very  favorable  impression;  later  you  realize  that  you 
have  found  out  very  little  as  to  the  object  of  your 
visit." 


160       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Conger's  first  social  duty  was  to  write  his  patron 
telling  of  his  arrival  and  asking  when  he  might  see 
him  alone.  Major  Thornton  wrote  in  reply  urging 
him  to  dine  at  his  house  that  very  night.  His  note  be- 
trayed a  father's  eagerness  to  see  his  son.  Its  answer 
was  a  telephone  message : 

"  Major  Thornton,  this  is  your  grateful  and  fond 
ward,  Conger." 

"  No,  no,"  the  major  expostulated,  "  not  ward;  you 
are  something  far  nearer  than  that — " 

"  So  ?  "  came  back. 

"  I  want  you,"  the  major  went  on,  "  to  look  upon  me 
more  as  a  father." 

"  Thank  you,  Major.  I  have  told  you  you  are  al- 
most to  me  as  dear  as  my  mandarin." 

"  That's  going  back  too  far,"  Major  Thornton  pro- 
tested. "  Well,  how  about  dinner  to-night?  " 

"  I  am  sorry,  Major,  but  to  sit  at  Mrs.  Thornton's 
table,  knowing  how  she  feels  toward  me  — " 

"  It's  my  table ;  I  am  inviting  you  to  —  see  here, 
Conger,  I  like  your  spirit  but,  damn  it  all,  you  shouldn't 
have  sent  me  that  draft.  I've  got  to  see  you  about 
that.  Now,  do  be  reasonable." 

"  I  will  see  you  at  your  club  any  time  that  you  may 
choose." 

"  Then  we'll  dine  there  this  evening." 

"  Very  well,  sir,  and  I  am  delighted  to  have  it  so." 

When  they  met  at  seven,  Major  Thornton  was  sur- 
prised to  see  how  Conger  had  matured  in  eight  months. 
It  flashed  through  his  mind  that  even  Mrs.  Thornton 
might  hesitate  to  patronize  this  fine,  serious-looking 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       161 

man.  The  major's  greeting  was  quite  different  from 
what  he  had  intended  a  moment  before.  One  couldn't 
call  such  a  man  to  account  for  having  sent  from  France 
a  statement  of  all  expenditures  on  his  behalf  for  the 
past  eleven  years,  and  a  draft  defraying  the  total  out- 
lay. It  was  not  until  after  dinner,  over  their  coffee 
and  cigars,  that  the  major  ventured: 

"  My  boy,  I  won't  ask  why  you  paid  me,  but  how 
on  earth,  even  with  this  agency  of  yours,  could  you 
raise  the  money  ?  " 

"  One  or  two  little  ventures  over  there  have  resulted 
exceedingly  well." 

"  But  you  have  had  no  business  experience  until  you 
managed  to  hypnotize  this  great  artist." 

"  You  forget,"  the  young  man  said,  looking  straight 
into  his  father's  eyes,  yet  seeing  there  only  a  strangely 
interested  friend,  "  you  forget  that  I  was  once  in  the 
rug  business." 

"  Poor  little  chap !  "  the  major  sighed,  and  to  Con- 
ger's amazement,  the  major's  handkerchief  was  needed 
to  brush  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  "  I  want  you  to 
know,"  he  said  when  they  parted,  "  that  I'm  very  proud 
of  you ;  that  you're  to  come  to  me  any  time  for  money 
or  help  of  any  sort.  And  I  wish  you  would  try  to  feel 
differently  towards  my  wife." 

"Does  she?"  Conger  asked,  and  that  so  upset  the 
poor  major  that  he  didn't  even  attempt  a  reply. 

Soon  after  this  dinner  Conger  went  one  afternoon  to 
pay  his  respects  to  Bess  Grayley.  By  her  tactful  de- 
vices Miss  Grayley  had  succeeded  in  making  herself 
one  of  his  most  intimate  friends.  It  was  as  Bess  and 


162       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Conger  that  they  greeted  each  other,  and  his  pleasure 
was  manifestly  genuine,  much  to  the  surprise  of  Bar- 
bara Wrayton,  who  was  spending  the  day  with  Bess. 
These  two  had  been  far  less  friendly  than  in  the  old 
days,  and  it  was  by  special  invitation  that  Barbara 
had  come  up  from  Waquanesett.  The  Grayleys  had 
the  same  cottage  for  the  summer,  but  had  not  yet 
moved  down  to  it.  The  day  was  warm,  the  air  sultry 
and  lifeless;  the  two  girls  looked  refreshingly  cool  and 
dainty  in  their  light  summer  frocks.  Strangely 
enough  they  had  just  been  discussing  Conger  Howe, 
and  Bess  had  repeated  her  former  opinion,  expressed 
almost  a  year  ago,  that  he  was  odious,  that  she  had 
always  detected  a  certain  something  in  his  eyes  which 
was  tricky.  She  wouldn't  trust  him ;  she  detested  him. 
And  then  suddenly  his  card  had  been  brought,  and  she 
had  told  the  demure  maid  to  show  him  in.  Barbara, 
glancing  up,  expecting  to  be  told  who  the  visitor  was, 
had  caught  a  twinkle  in  the  maid's  eye  such  as  might 
have  been  there  had  the  maid  been  listening  to  their 
conversation,  and  Barbara  was  therefore  prepared  to 
see  Conger  Howe.  What  she  was  not  prepared  for 
was  the  evident  intimacy  that  had  grown  during  his 
stay  abroad.  Bess  had  been  lying  to  her,  deliberately, 
but  for  what  purpose  ? 

He  looked  older,  sadder,  but  sure  of  himself,  and  in 
vigorous  health.  His  skin  was  clear  and  tanned  a  rich 
brown;  his  eye  flashed  in  a  way  that  made  her  think 
at  once  of  some  one  else,  though  of  whom  she  couldn't 
at  the  moment  recall. 

"  Is  this,  then,"  he  asked,  seating  himself  comfort- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       163 

ably  on  the  wide  divan,  "  what  you  mean  by  killing 
two  birds  with  a  stone  ?  " 

"Are  you  quite  sure  you  have  made  the  killing?" 
Barbara  flung  back,  with  a  laugh. 

"  It  would  profit  one  nothing  here,"  he  said,  with 
that  queer  little  puzzled  look  that  had  interested  her 
from  their  first  meeting,  "  here  where  one  is  allowed 
but  one  wife  at  a  time  ?  " 

"  What  a  horrid  idea !  "  Bess  broke  in.  "  Would 
you  wish  to  teach  a  Christian  country  your  heathenish 
Chinese  notions  of  polygamy?  " 

"  They  are  not  my  notions,"  he  answered ;  "  it  is  that 
China  practises  polygamy,  this  country  monogamy. 
One  is  not  necessarily  better  or  even  more  righteous 
than  the  other." 

"  That  means  you  would  like  the  Chinese  idea  better 
than  ours,"  Bess  declared. 

"  Not  for  myself,"  he  replied  quietly.  "  There  is  in 
China  a  saying :  '  How  many  wives,  so  many 
troubles.'  It  is  because  women  do  not  agree  so  well 
among  themselves  as  men." 

Instinctively  Barbara  and  Bess  looked  at  each  other, 
but  neither  was  prepared  to  debate  the  point  then  and 
there. 

Barbara,  who  was  beginning  to  fear  that  this  serious 
man  might  take  the  twist  given  his  remark  too  literally, 
changed  the  subject  abruptly  by  asking:  "How  is 
your  adorable  Felix  fitron?  Monsieur  Beauchamp 
wrote  my  father,  the  other  day,  that  he  recently  painted 
a  Madonna  and  Child  so  beautiful,  so  spiritual,  that 
the  nuns  from  the  convent  of  the  Sacred  Heart  went  in 


164       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

a  body  and  drew  the  dear  old  man  in  his  carriage  out 
to  the  Bois  where  he  was  completing  the  background." 

"  There  are  so  few  Frenchmen  in  this  country," 
Conger  Howe  said  regretfully,  "  Monsieur  Beauchamp 
must  know  Felix  £tron  and  his  little  circle  very  well. 
They  are  few  who  know  him." 

"  Then  it  is  true  —  I  mean  about  the  nuns  —  it 
seemed  so  theatrical  — "  Barbara  hesitated. 

"  Ah,"  he  assured  her,  "  one  must  not  forget  that  to 
the  aged  come  demonstrations  of  affection  denied  to 
those  who  might  more  highly  value  them." 

"  But  he  is  a  lovable  old  character,"  Barbara  insisted. 
"  I  know  he  is  from  the  mystery,  the  depth,  the  won- 
der in  his  pictures." 

"  You  see  that  ?  "  Conger  asked ;  "  then  you  will 
understand  when  I  tell  you  that  I  love  him.  I  used 
to  think,  at  the  first,  that  I  saw  in  his  pictures  what  it 
was  given  to  none  else  to  see.  I  have  learned  — 
this! "  and  he  stretched  his  arms  wide  seeming  to  the 
girl  facing  him  to  open  the  doors  that  all  might  come 
in. 

She  didn't  ask  for  an  explanation;  she  felt  that  she 
could  understand  his  point  of  view.  He  had  seen  the 
beauty,  the  subtlety,  the  charm  in  Felix  fitron,  had 
thrown  himself  heart  and  soul  into  the  work  of  intro- 
ducing the  world  to  that  which  had  dawned  for  him. 
And  to  his  surprise,  to  his  great  joy,  had  come  this 
instant  response.  Was  it  any  wonder  that  the  fine  old 
man,  recognizing  Conger  Howe's  value  to  him,  re- 
mained loyal  despite  the  tempting  offers  of  influential 
dealers  ? 


CHAPTER  XXI 

A  curious  effect  of  this  call  was  that  it  left  all  three 
wondering,  uncertain,  anxious  to  know  more.  To 
Bess,  most  of  all,  it  was  disappointing,  baffling,  that 
Conger's  attention  had  been  all  but  monopolized  by 
Barbara.  She  was  too  bright  not  to  know  that  Bar- 
bara had  seen  through  her  mask,  seen  that  she  was 
playing  false,  and  would  naturally  speculate  upon  her 
reasons.  It  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  she  could 
have  spoken  honestly  in  disparagement  of  one  with 
whom  she  was  on  such  friendly  footing.  Barbara  had 
found  her  out,  and  there  was  no  help  for  it. 

Barbara  had  been  shocked  to  find  so  wide  a  dis- 
crepancy between  Bess's  talk  and  her  conduct,  but  had 
not  been  wholly  unprepared  for  it.  She  reproached 
herself  for  a  fool  in  having  for  a  year  accepted  Bess's 
false  estimate  of  Conger  Howe  instead  of  forming 
her  own  judgment.  As  she  thought  it  over  she  even 
concluded  that  there  might  be  some  leniency  shown  re- 
garding the  strange  copying  or  retouching  that  he  had 
seemed  ashamed  of.  No  nice  girl  would  marry  a  half 
Chinaman,  of  course,  but  one  might  be  friends  with 
him.  Doubtless  their  ideas  of  right  and  wrong  were 
on  a  lower  plane,  as  all  foreigners'  ideas  were,  to  a 
greater  or  less  degree. 

And  if  the  afternoon  had  brought  its  surprises  to 

165 


166       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Bess  and  Barbara,  it  was  no  less  a  shock  to  Conger 
that  Bess  had  appeared  to  him  jealous  of  her  friend's 
presence  —  his  sensitive  nature  had  grasped  that  fact 
at  once  —  and  that  Barbara  had  shown  none  of  the 
qualities  attributed  to  her  in  frequent  confidential  ref- 
erences during  their  correspondence  of  the  winter.  It 
was  confusing,  but  his  loyalty  to  this  new  friend  for- 
bade more  than  a  passing  chill  of  disappointment;  then 
once  more  she  became  for  him  what  his  imagination 
had  pictured  her  during  the  year  of  their  growing 
friendship. 

Such  were  the  relations  among  these  three  when  they 
were  settled  again  at  Waquanesett  for  the  summer. 
The  disreputable  yellow  dog  must  have  learned  that  C. 
Howe  was  his  benefactor,  for,  although  never  allowed 
to  set  foot  within  the  sacred  threshold  of  the  inn,  he 
was  patiently  waiting  outside  in  the  yard  every  morn- 
ing when  Conger  finished  breakfast,  and  no  inclemency 
of  the  weather  caused  the  slightest  deviation  from  his 
regular  attendance.  A  bright  new  collar  testified  to 
his  legalized  existence,  but  so  little  accorded  with  his 
general  appearance  of  shabbiness  and  rowdyism  that  it 
stood  out  like  a  shiny  silk  hat  on  a  rag-picker.  The 
moment  C.  Howe  appeared  the  yellow  dog's  emotion 
convulsed  him  into  such  contortions  that  he  seemed  to 
wag  all  the  rear  half  of  his  body;  then  he  would  leap 
as  high  as  the  man's  shoulder,  uttering  his  short,  sharp 
bark  of  welcome.  All  day  the  yellow  dog  kept  close 
beside  the  man  he  worshipped,  and  when  night  came 
he  disappeared,  none  knew  where,  to  sleep  and  dream 
of  the  morrow. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       167 

On  the  second  day  after  the  arrival  of  "  the  tall 
furriner "  had  been  town  gossip,  C.  Howe  was  at 
Myrick's  barn,  getting  things  cleaned  and  set  to  rights. 
His  was  the  thorough  housecleaning  of  the  trained 
worker  —  and  dust,  field  mice,  sand  and  broken  shin- 
gles flew  in  an  endless  stream  far  out  over  the  steep 
bank,  pursued  by  the  relentless  broom  of  efficient  zeal. 
The  yellow  dog  had  just  been  exhorted  in  Chinese  to 
get  out  of  the  way,  and,  understanding,  had  heeded  the 
advice,  when  a  step  was  heard,  and  the  stumpy  tail 
heralded  the  approach  of  a  friend.  Half  a  minute  of 
expectancy,  and  in  the  full  glare  of  the  bright  morning 
sunlight  Relief  Snow  stood  before  the  door,  clad  in 
purple  and  bright  yellow  moons. 

"Why,  Relief!"  Conger  gasped;  then  instantly  he 
knew  that  she  was  wearing  it  for  him.  Her  heart 
showed  itself  in  her  eyes.  He  couldn't  mistake  it. 
"  How  lovely  you  look !  "  he  lied,  and  thanked  good- 
ness that  he  had  lied  in  time. 

"  Do  you  really  like  it?  "  she  asked,  smoothing  the 
skirt  into  place  with  evident  admiration  of  its  love- 
liness. 

"  Like  it?  Why,  my  dear  Relief,  you  are  charming 
in  it !  "  and,  coming  out  to  her,  he  turned  her  round 
for  a  more  careful  survey.  The  girl  blushed  with 
pleasure  and  the  consciousness  of  beauty,  never  dream- 
ing that  the  loveliness  was  not  chiefly  in  her  raiment 
and  the  boldness  of  its  color  scheme. 

"  I've  been  waitin'  for  you  ter  come  back,"  she  said, 
looking  away  from  him  at  the  power  dory  panting 
laboriously  up  to  westward. 


168      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  And  many  a  time  I  have  thought  also  of  Waquane- 
sett,"  the  man  said :  "  of  this  quiet  spot  where  one  looks 
acipss  the  sea  from  the  sand  dunes  to  the  sky,  and 
knows  the  meaning  of  the  words  '  from  everlasting  to 
everlasting.' ' 

The  girl  turned  to  look  at  him.  This  impersonal 
tone  was  not  in  keeping  with  her  thoughts. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  she  said,  simply. 

"  I  mean,"  he  answered,  "  that  men  and  women  — 
and  yellow  dogs  —  are  of  very  little  account  compared 
with  the  sand  and  the  sea  and  the  sky.  They  have 
•been  here  countless  ages;  they  will  be  here  for  count- 
less ages  to  come,  but  we  —  Time  snaps  its  fingers  at 
the  little  space  in  which  we,  poor  silly  things,  come,  and 
build  our  fences,  calling  so  much  ours,  and  are  gone. 
It  is  all  so  short,  so  unimportant !  But  here  —  you 
and  I  come  face  to  face  with  great  and  lasting  things. 
It  shall  not  make  us  sad,  this  looking  at  life  as  it  is, 
but  it  must  give  us  perspective." 

Relief  had  turned  her  back  by  this  time,  and  was 
interested  in  the  yellow  dog. 

"What's  that  claw  for,  hangin'  down  on  his  leg? 
Look's  like  it  ain't  any  sort  o'  use  ?  "  She  had  no  idea 
of  being  rude,  but  her  mind  didn't  follow  his  —  all 
this  talk  about  sand  being  real  and  people  not  being 
real. 

"  That  is  what  some  ancestor  very  far  back  used  for 
a  thumb,"  Conger  explained,  but  she  only  shook  her 
head  and  said :  "  You're  off  again !  There's  nothin' 
to  it,  nothin'  to  it!" 

Some  one  on  board  the  power  dory  had  seen  them, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       169 

and  was  waving  a  handkerchief.  Relief  caught  up  one 
of  his  dust  cloths,  and  responded  vigorously.  Her 
arms  lifted  above  her  head,  skirts  and  hair  fluttering 
in  the  lazy  breeze,  she  looked  so  strong  and  young  and 
glowing,  "  she  even  overcomes  the  biting  harshness  of 
her  clothes,"  he  thought. 

Turning  suddenly  she  knew  that  he  was  watching 
her,  she  even  caught  a  note  of  admiration,  and,  with 
a  child's  directness,  asked,  "  Are  you  goin'  ter  marry 
the  Grayley  woman?  " 

"The  what?"  he  asked,  to  give  himself  time  to 
treat  this  idea  without  hurting  her  feelings. 

"  The  Grayley  woman,"  she  repeated,  trying  to  look 
disinterested.  "  She's  made  up  her  mind  to  have  you." 

The  yellow  dog  half  rose,  stretched  his  long  legs 
slowly  as  far  as  they  would  reach,  yawned  capaciously, 
audibly,  and  lay  down  again  at  full  length  on  the 
ground,  every  muscle  and  nerve  relaxed,  every  anxiety 
banished,  every  sin  atoned  or  transferred  to  his  master's 
shoulders  by  the  comfortable  practice  of  confession  and 
absolution.  With  neither  guilt  nor  hunger  to  dis- 
turb him,  it  is  little  wonder  that  he  soon  snored  pro- 
foundly. Relief  had  sat  down  on  the  huge  relic  of  a 
broken  mast,  a  bit  of  driftwood  that  like  a  sleeping 
giant  lay  alongside  Myrick's  barn.  Not  unmindful 
of  her  new  gown  she  had  cautiously  lifted  the  glorious 
skirt,  and  it  spread  about  her,  converting  the  weather- 
beaten  log  into  an  Oriental  couch. 

Miss  Grayley  had  been  dropped;  the  yellow  dog 
had  had  the  last  word,  but  Conger  Howe  was  thinking : 
Was  it  true?  Did  she  care  for  him  to  that  extent? 


170      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

And  how  came  Relief  Snow  to  know  anything  about 
it? 

He  was  standing  in  his  favorite  place;  leaning 
against  the  jamb  of  the  big  door,  and  he  had  lighted 
his  pipe. 

"  Seems  like  we  hadn't  left,  an'  it  was  still  last 
summer,"  Relief  said  finally.  '  'Cept  I  didn't  hev  no 
sech  dress  —  say  —  did  you  think  I  wouldn't  know 
where  the  money  come  from  ?  Doctor  Boon  ain't  got 
no  more  play-actin'  about  him  'n  a  heifer  calf.  'Cute 
he  is,  too,  some  ways.  I  remember  when  Mary  M. 
had  dipthery  —  she  was  awful  sick  an'  we  thought 
she  wouldn't  fetch  through.  He  come  an'  stood  to  the 
foot  o'  her  bed  an'  told  her  she  was  much  better.  But 
then,  yer  see,  that  was  straight  lyin' —  it  wa'n't  no 
actin'.  Why  did  you  do  it,  Mr.  Kangaroo?" 

"  Because  you  and  I  are  friends,"  he  said,  smiling, 
"  and  I  wanted  to  feel  that  you  had  a  little  that  you 
could  call  your  own."  Then  pointing  to  the  east  he 
went  on,  "  See  that  long  line  of  smoke  left  by  some 
steamer  just  rounding  the  cape?  I  am  always  glad 
one  cannot  see  the  shipping  here.  This  seems  so  far 
from  struggle,  from  commerce,  from  competition, 
from  all  that  make  life  hard." 

"  I  wonder  if  it  is,"  the  girl  said.  Was  this  the 
same  Relief  Snow  who  a  few  minutes  ago  could  not 
follow  him? 

He  looked  at  her  hard,  but  she  had  stooped  to  pick 
up  a  clam-shell,  and  was  studying  intently  the  bleached 
and  broken  fragment  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

"  I  say,  Conger,  you've  been  long  enough  in  this 
country  to  get  over  some  of  these  Buddhist  or  Con- 
fucianist  notions  of  yours."  Galton  spoke  earnestly. 
The  two  men  were  on  their  way  to  Waquanesett  by  the 
afternoon  Cape  train.  C.  Howe  had  just  returned 
from  a  business  trip  to  New  York  and  Galton  was  go- 
ing to  spend  Saturday  and  Sunday  with  his  parents. 

"  But  these  are  not  notions,"  Conger  argued.  "  For 
me  it  is  possible,  it  is  feasible,  to  hold  in  one's  mind 
at  the  same  time  two  conflicting  ideas.  Once  my  ideas 
of  a  profession,  my  desire  to  study  one  thing  and  live 
by  another,  seemed  to  you  visionary.  It  was  prac- 
tical." 

"  Well,  that's  very  different  from  saying  you'd  like 
to  marry  both  Barbara  and  Bess  Grayley,"  Galton  re- 
torted. 

"  No,  it's  much  the  same  thing,"  Conger  insisted. 
"  They  are  so  different  they  complement  each  other. 
No,  I  think  the  two  together,  if  they  could  get  on  to- 
gether, would  make  a  good  wife." 

"  In  the  first  place,"  Galton  protested,  "  Bess  has 
nothing  that  Barbara  hasn't,  so  you'd  gain  nothing. 
Barbara  has  more  brains,  better  disposition,  more 
varied  gifts,  greater  charm,  and  certainly  she's  far 
better  looking." 

"So?"  Conger  said  reflectively.     "I  thought,  for 


i;2       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

example,  that  Miss  Bess  appeared  more  anxious  to 
please.  Miss  Wrayton  never  has  seemed  to  me  to 
care  much  what  any  one  thought  of  her."  And  even 
as  he  spoke  he  knew  in  his  heart  that  he  was  fighting 
down  his  admiration  for  her  because  she  was  Galton's 
and  could  never  care  for  him. 

"  I'm  afraid  that's  pretty  near  true,  Conger.  Life 
has  thus  far  never  looked  serious  to  her.  It  has  just 
been  a  game.  After  we're  married  it  will  be  differ- 
ent." 

"  She  will  fall  in  love  with  you  after  you  are  mar- 
ried?" 

"  Good  Lord,  man,  I  didn't  mean  that ;  her  love  will 
grow  deeper,  stronger.  She  will  understand  herself 
and  it  then." 

"  Perhaps  —  but  I  do  not  think  it." 

"  You're  very  exasperating,  Conger.  What  in  hell 
do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  this  girl  has  never  found  what  one  calls 
her  heart.  It  may  be  that  she  does  not  possess  the 
faculty  to  love.  I  believe  this  to  be  true  of  many 
women,  especially  those  highly-bred  individuals  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  race.  Already  in  this  country  it  is  most 
creditable  to  be  sexless.  Some  day  you  may  be  forced 
to  our  —  I  mean  the  Chinese  custom  of  several  wives 
lest  your  race  —  our  race  —  perish  from  the  earth. 
Miss  Grayley  is  more  human.  Now,  if  I  could  marry 
both—" 

"  Shut  up !  "  Galton  interrupted.  "  I  tell  you  I  am 
going  to  marry  Barbara  in  a  very  few  months,  so  you 
can  leave  her  out  of  it." 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       173 

"  Galton,"  Conger  said  deliberately,  "  I  have  watched 
you  now  in  your  wooing  these  ten  years  —  Miss  Bar- 
bara may  love  some  day.  You  she  will  never  love. 
To  marry  her  without  —  no ;  you  could  not  do  this !  " 

"Nonsense,"  Galton  insisted;  "don't  you  suppose 
I  know  Barbara?  " 

"  I  have  watched  you,"  his  friend  answered,  "  and  I 
have  seen  that  you  do  not." 

"  What  an  ass  you  are !  "  Galton  exclaimed,  indig- 
nantly. "  You  cannot  seem  to  comprehend  that  you 
are  not  a  Chinaman  but  a  Yankee.  Your  judgment  of 
women  is  the  critical  sort  that  applies  to  dogs  and 
horses  and  motor  cars  —  chattels." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  C.  Howe  asked,  blandly.  "  Are 
wives  less  important  than  chattels?  Your  world  has 
dignified  under  the  title  '  affairs  of  the  heart '  the  com- 
monest animal  instincts.  Let  them  become  affairs  of 
the  head,  and  you  will  see  less  unhappy  marriages." 

"Bosh!"  Galton  flung  back,  petulantly.  "You're 
talking  platitudes." 

"  Platitudes  or  not,"  Conger  said,  "  the  ideal  wife 
is  the  composite  of  three  good  women.  But  if  the 
three  good  women  cannot  live  together  in  peace  — 
why,  one  must  remain  single.  Do  you  know,  Galton, 
if  your  Miss  Barbara  W  ray  ton  were  really  what  you 
claim  for  her,  she  might  make  me  a  good  wife  by  her- 
self." 

"  Oh,  you  old  jackass !  "  Galton  laughed,  "  I  believe 
you  have  the  nerve  to  be  half  serious  at  that.  Why, 
man,  she  wouldn't  look  at  you !  " 

A  letter  awaited  Conger  Howe  at  the  Waquanesett 


174       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Inn.  Its  handwriting  suggested  lack  of  practice;  in 
spelling  it  carried  reform  almost  to  the  point  of  revolu- 
tion. The  choice  of  adjectives  proved  that  one  may  be 
a  church  deacon  and  still  employ  profanity  so  long  as 
the  user  of  it  does  not  mean  by  his  damning  to  consign 
the  thing  damned  to  everlasting  perdition.  In  one 
sentence  the  recipient  was  exhorted,  and  in  the  very 
next  he  was  dared,  to  visit  the  undersigned  at  his  house 
where,  as  an  inducement  to  call,  he  was  promised  "  the 
damdest  threshin'  you  ever  seen."  It  was  signed  "  Re- 
spectfully Yours,  Theophilus  Snow." 

"  Relief's  father,"  Conger  said  to  himself.  "  What 
can  have  gone  wrong  there?"  Next  morning  after 
breakfast  he  and  the  yellow  dog  entered  the  Snow's 
yard.  Gene  was  unhitching  a  giant  ox  from  the  heavy 
shafts  of  a  two-wheeled  cart.  The  wooden  yoke,  re- 
leased from  its  thole-pins,  was  lifted  from  the  creature's 
neck,  and  stolidly  as  he  had  borne  the  weight  and  toil  of 
his  long  journey  from  the  weirs,  he  now  began  grazing 
on  the  nearest  grass.  To  him  work  meant  hunger, 
hunger  food,  and  food  in  turn  but  the  preparation  for 
more  work. 

"  How  many  oxen  one  sees  —  even  in  New  York," 
Conger  thought.  A  girl  stood  watching  Gene.  She 
too  had  just  come  from  work;  her  sleeves  were  rolled 
up  to  the  elbows.  What  caught  Conger  Howe's  at- 
tention most  was  the  elevated  angle  of  her  nose  —  as 
if  some  rude  hand  had  tweaked  it  upward,  drawing 
after  it  the  short  upper  lip,  leaving  shamelessly  exposed 
her  very  red  gums  and  a  crowded  disarray  of  long 
teeth. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       175 

"  She  is  a  rodent,"  C.  Howe  said  to  himself,  and 
then  was  sorry  lest  she  should  read  his  thought.  A 
gray-haired  woman  who  once  was  pretty  appeared  in 
the  door  of  the  shed.  "Mary  M.,"  she  called,  "I 
can't  lift  that  kittle  by  myself,  and  it's  bilin'  over  now." 
Mary  M.  disappeared  into  the  house. 

"Is  Captain  Snow  about?"  Conger  asked. 

"  Down  t'  the  fish-house  yonder,"  Gene  said,  indi- 
cating with  a  thumb  over  his  shoulder  the  road  leading 
down  beside  the  barn.  A  hundred  yards  down  this 
road  stood  an  unpainted  shed,  and  there  Conger  found 
the  fisherman  sorting  and  packing  in  barrels  with  ice 
the  mackerel  and  tautog  that  had  been  his  morning's 
haul.  The  load  had  been  dumped  into  a  sort  of  shal- 
low bin,  and  the  big  grizzly  man  in  oilers  and  rubber- 
boots  was  sorting  the  fish  into  several  barrels,  stopping 
every  few  minutes  to  pack  in  more  ice.  All  the  large 
mackerel  were  kept  apart  from  the  smaller  ones,  and 
to  Conger's  surprise  even  the  squid  were  not  thrown 
away,  but  went  into  barrels  to  be  eaten,  as  he  after- 
wards learned,  by  the  Italians,  the  foremost  of  food 
conservers.  As  tools  the  captain  used  only  a  pitchfork 
and  a  common  shovel.  Time  was  precious,  and  he 
worked  steadily  for  several  minutes  before  he  was 
aware  that  he  had  a  visitor.  His  first  word  was  not 
a  friendly  form  of  greeting :  "  So  you  come  round 
to  get  it,  did  ye?  "  The  long  pitchfork  hung  balanced 
in  his  hairy  hands. 

"  To  get  what  you  had  to  say  to  me,"  the  young  man 
answered. 

"  To  get  a  damn  sight  more'n  that!  "  the  Captain  re- 


176      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

torted  angrily,  taking  a  stride  forward  as  he  spoke. 

The  yellow  dog  showed  his  teeth  and  growled  a 
warning  as  he  sprang  before  his  master. 

"  Ye  would,  would  ye !  "  the  fisherman  cried,  and 
made  a  vicious  lunge  at  the  yellow  dog  with  his  heavy 
fork.  But  quicker  than  the  attack,  quicker  even  than 
the  dog's  attempt  to  save  himself,  was  Conger's  spring. 
Something  like  a  galvanic  shock  intercepted  the  awk- 
ward motion  of  Cap'n  Thoph's  arms;  something 
wrenched  and  twisted  them  with  such  a  sudden  pain 
that  their  strength  was  gone  and  they  were  mere  ropes 
of  hay.  The  pitchfork  flew  into  the  air,  and  fell 
twenty  feet  away  with  a  startling  clatter.  The  big 
man,  unsteady  on  his  feet,  was  rubbing  his  left  arm 
with  his  right  hand.  There  was  no  feeling  in  it  from 
the  thumb  to  the  elbow.  The  place  had  grown  cold 
and  there  were  black  specks  floating  before  his  eyes. 
Then  a  voice  quite  calm  and  low  said :  ''  You  forget 
that  you  are  more  than  twice  my  age."  Gradually  the 
feeling  was  coming  back  into  the  injured  arm. 
"  Twice  my  age,"  rang  in  the  captain's  ears.  He 
knew  that  he  was  going  to  protest:  no  one  need  con- 
sider his  years;  he  wasn't  quite  sixty,  and  could  do  a 
day's  work  with  any  of  'em.  Yet  he  did  not  say  it. 
Weakness,  faintness,  made  him  feel  suddenly  old. 
He  had  never  thought  of  it  before,  but  perhaps  he 
was  ageing  a  little.  The  young  man  was  examining 
the  fish  still  left  in  the  bin.  The  yellow  dog  seemed 
very  much  surprised  when  the  fish  jumped  and  flapped 
their  tails.  He  even  barked  at  them;  the  pitchfork 
that  had  almost  ended  his  existence  no  longer  con- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       177 

cerned  him.  That  was  the  past,  and  his  philosophy 
never  went  back,  even  to  dig  up  the  bones  buried  yes- 
terday. 

Cap'n  Thoph,  stumbling  heavily  forward,  sat  down 
on  a  wheelbarrow.  "  How  did  ye  do  that?  "  he  asked, 
in  a  voice  that  only  weakly  resembled  his  own,  famous 
in  prayer-meeting  hymns  for  the  masterful  way  it  car- 
ried the  bass. 

'  That  is  one  of  many  tricks  learned  in  China  and 
in  Japan,"  Conger  said  simply,  and  picked  up  a  squid  to 
see  if  it  could  use  its  peculiar  defense  out  of  water. 

Cap'n  Thoph  looked  at  the  lithe  and  easy  figure  be- 
fore him,  so  confident  in  its  powers,  and  he  knew  that 
he  had  passed  his  prime.  "  What  did  you  wish  to  say 
to  me?  "  the  young  man  asked. 

"  Not  to  meddle  with  my  little  gal,"  the  fisherman 
declared,  regaining  a  little  his  proper  voice. 

"  For  sixteen  years,"  Conger  Howe  said,  perching 
on  a  barrel  that  afforded  a  precarious  seat,  "  I  was  in 
China  an  outcast,  nameless,  almost  more  a  slave  than 
your  ox.  Life  opened  for  me  one  of  its  doors  of 
escape  from  bondage  into  freedom,  freedom  to  live  my 
own  life,  to  think  my  own  thoughts,  to  fashion  my  own 
future.  Do  you  think  that  I  could  step  out  from  such 
a  life  as  that  was  into  freedom,  and  endure  to  see  any 
other  creature,  woman,  man  or  dog  —  enslaved?" 

The  older  man  looked  into  the  clear  eyes  of  the 
speaker,  and  his  own  fell  before  them  in  shame. 

"  You  mean,"  he  began ;  then  stopped,  for  the  words 
that  should  match  what  he  had  read  in  the  other's 
face. 


i;8       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  mean,"  Conger  Howe  caught  him  up,  "  that  what 
you  allowed  yourself  to  think  had  never  come  into  my 
mind.'v 

"  I  believe  ye,"  Cap'n  Thoph  said  solemnly.  "  I 
dunno  now  why  I  believe  ye,  but  I  do.  The  gal  has 
worried  her  ma  and  me  ever  since  —  ye  may  'a' 
heard—" 

"  Yes,  I  have  heard  how  ignorant  youth  is.  Youth 
goes  wrong,  makes  blunders  because  fathers  are  too 
stupid  or  too  prudish  to  enlighten  it.  The  fault  is  not 
youth's;  it  lies  with  teachers  and  protectors  who  do 
not  teach  and  protect." 

"  Seems  like  you  was  makin'  me  out  to  be  the  guilty 
one,  'stead  o'  her." 

"  I  do  not  pretend  to  know,"  Conger  explained. 
"  But  if  you  had  not  taught  her;  if  you  let  her  find  out 
for  herself,  you  are  far  more  guilty  than  she  ever  was." 

The  big  man  in  his  heavy  clothes  had  taken  out  his 
knife  and  sat  there  whittling  a  stick.  No  one  had  ever 
suggested  such  a  thing  to  him.  It  wasn't  so,  of  course, 
but  these  educated  people  that  talked  like  a  page  right 
out  of  a  book  were  somethin'  powerful  hard  to  argue 
with. 

The  yellow  dog,  bearir  j  no  malice,  came  and  sniffed 
at  a  smell  of  dead  fish  on  the  big  rubber-boots,  a  smell 
that  had  been  there  long  enough  to  get  that  quality  of 
age  which  alone  appeals  to  a  dog's  sensitive  nose  as 
something  delightful,  something  to  roll  in  and  carry 
away  in  one's  coat  as  a  precious  memory. 

"Say,  hev  you  got  religion?"  Cap'n  Snow  asked 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       179 

suddenly.  A  new  light  was  breaking  on  the  captain's 
mind. 

"Got  religion?" 

"  Yes  —  have  you  found  Jesus  ?  " 

"  I  never  looked  for  him,"  C.  Howe  said ;  and  when 
he  saw  that  this  shocked  the  fisherman,  he  added :  "  I 
have  a  religion  of  my  own,  but  it  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  things  you  call  sacred." 

"Hold  on  there!  Stiddy!"  cried  Cap'n  Thoph. 
"  Thar  ain't  but  one  God,  one  Faith,  one  Salva- 
tion — " 

"  That's  where  this  nation  goes  astray,"  the  young 
man  broke  in.  "  You  boast  of  your  bigness  and 
breadth,  and  you  are  as  narrow  as  Italy." 

Instead  of  a  torrent  of  abuse,  Cap'n  Thoph  chose  a 
new  stick  to  whittle,  and  asked,  "  Is  Italy  very  nar- 
rer?" 

"  Very !  "  Conger  answered.  "  But  why  did  you 
ask  about  religion?  " 

"  Seemed  to  me  like  your  words  was  touched  by  the 
Holy  Ghost,"  the  big  man  said  simply,  and  C.  Howe 
sitting  there  on  his  barrel  mused  aloud :  "  The  Holy 
Ghost  —  I  have  not  been  able  to  make  anything  out  of 
that.  It  is  figurative  language  —  probably  means  the 
spirit  of  Goodness." 

Cap'n  Thoph  knew  exactly  what  it  meant.  The 
Trinity  was  as  simple  as  the  seasons:  simply  the  Al- 
mighty's way  of  doing  business,  as  he  had  explained 
in  meeting  more  than  once  at  great  length  and  to  the 
complete  satisfaction  of  Mrs.  Snow.  But  Cap'n 


i8o       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Thoph  sat  there  and  whittled.  This  man  with  his  dark 
eyes  and  his  masterful  habits  and  his  gentle  manner! 
No !  No !  it  wasn't  for  such  as  Cap'n  Thoph  Snow  to 
tell  what  he  knew  to  this  man. 

They  sat  so  long  silent  that  the  dog  put  his  paw  on 
C.  Howe's  knee,  which  is  a  dog's  way  of  asking: 
What  next?  And  Conger  patted  the  dog's  head,  but 
said  nothing,  for  the  pat  is  dog  language  and  means: 
Be  patient  —  and  the  dog  understood  it  and  was  pa- 
tient. 

"  Relief  ain't  never  b'en  convicted  o'  sin,"  the  cap- 
tain said  after  his  long  meditation.  Conger  looked 
puzzled,  as  he  was.  Why  should  Relief  be  convicted 
of  sin?  Aloud  he  said: 

"Sin?     She  doesn't  know  what  it  is." 

"  I've  told  her,"  Cap'n  Thoph  protested.  "  It's  a 
parent's  dooty.  The  wrath  o'  God  ain't  no  — " 

"  Where  the  hell  is  them  fish?  "  a  voice  interrupted. 
The  form  of  Gene,  the  captain's  first  born,  darkened 
the  door.  "  I've  hed  the  hoss  hitched  more'n  half  an 
hour,  waitin'." 

Cap'n  Thoph  rose  stiffly  from  his  seat,  found  his 
pitchfork  and  resumed  his  work  of  sorting  and  pack- 
ing. Gene  went  back  to  his  horse  without  another 
word.  There  were  dark  moods  when  even  Gene  dared 
not  hurry  the  old  man.  He  was  once  more  wielding 
the  heavy  fork,  but  his  left  arm,  was  stiff  and  there 
was  very  little  strength  in  that  thumb.  The  yellow 
dog  wagged  a  thankful  tail,  for  he  loved  action,  as 
out  from  the  cool,  dark  shed  Conger  Howe  and  he 
stepped  into  the  glare  of  sunshine,  and,  following 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       181 

their  shadows  down  the  grass-grown  road,  hurried, 
eager  for  the  day's  work.  C.  Howe  could  not  fix  his 
attention  on  anything  else  until  that  strange  interview 
had  been  well  thought  out,  its  causes  and  effects  care- 
fully weighed,  his  future  conduct  towards  the  girl  de- 
termined. No  such  contemplation  disturbed  his  com- 
panion. He  had  come  close,  very  close  to  death  —  but 
death  had  missed  him.  Why  look  back?  With  joy- 
ous bark  and  optimistic  tail  he  scurried  to  and  fro, 
facing  the  future,  living  the  present. 

Conger  could  still  smell  the  fish,  still  feel  the  cool 
of  the  fish-house,  and  see  the  shiney  blue  mackerel 
flopping  their  final  protest  against  man's  carnivorous 
habits.  There  was  pathos  in  the  figure  of  the  big 
fisherman  forking  his  fish  into  the  barrels,  trying  to 
make  himself  believe  that  nothing  had  happened  — 
nothing  except  a  sprained  thumb  and  a  wrenched  pride 
that  had  suddenly  made  him  humble.  What  a  stupid 
notion  the  old  man  had  about  his  daughter!  Why 
should  fathers  and  mothers  always  expect  their  chil- 
dren to  fall  in  love?  When  they  were  little  the  par- 
ental solicitation  was  lest  they  get  run  over;  later  the 
same  anxiety  about  falling  in  love.  Ridiculous! 
How  Relief  would  laugh  at  the  idea!  "  I  shall  not 
mention  it,  however,"  he  decided,  "  because  of  what 
she  said  about  Bess."  He  fell  to  wondering  just  how 
much  he  cared  for  Bess.  "  I  might  do  worse,"  he 
thought,  "  especially  if  she  cares  for  me."  That  con- 
fidential revelation  given  him  eight  months  ago  —  she 
hadn't  left  home,  in  fact  she  had  never  again  men- 
tioned being  unhappy,  and  as  for  the  man  with  whom 


182      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

she  was  hopelessly  infatuated :  "  I  wonder  if  it  could 
be?  "  he  asked  himself.  "  And  I  wonder  if  this  is  how 
a  man  feels  when  he  is  what  they  call  in  love?  " 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

There  was  an  evening  clambake  on  the  beach.  Sat- 
urday night  had  been  chosen  that  Galton  might  be  one 
of  the  party.  Where  the  bake  lay  heaped  under  an 
old  sail-cloth  rose  a  steaming  fragrance  into  the  air 
that  told  of  chickens  and  corn  and  lobsters  roasting 
in  all  that  pile  of  seaweed  with  the  sizzling  clams. 
Cap'n  Gragg,  who  was  in  charge  of  the  bake,  knew 
to  a  second  when  it  was  done,  and  his  hearty  voice 
summoned  all  hands  to  "  tumble  up."  The  girls  were 
busy  arranging  dishes,  napkins,  wooden  plates;  open- 
ing bottles  of  olives  and  ginger  pop.  The  young  men 
came  fresh  and  hungry  from  a  long  swim;  and  all 
smelt  the  salty  fragrance  of  the  feast  and  delighted  in 
it  even  as  their  ancestors,  many  centuries  before  them, 
when  cooking  was  first  invented.  And  to  none  did  the 
delectable  odors  appeal  more  powerfully  than  to  the 
yellow  dog  whose  ancestors  had  remained  impartial  as 
to  the  question  of  cooking,  but  whose  discrimination 
was  keener  than  that  of  any  other  guest  present 

Conger  Howe,  who,  like  the  yellow  dog,  had  known 
the  full  value  of  good  food  from  all  the  varied  ex- 
perience of  going  without  any  or  snatching  a  hasty 
bite  of  what  came  his  way,  up  to  the  present  calm  pros- 
pect of  repletion,  found  a  seat  beside  Barbara  Wray- 
ton.  In  fact  Barbara  had  seemed  to  indicate  by  a 

183 


i84-     IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

subtle  suggestion  of  her  eyes  that  he  was  expected  to 
take  that  seat. 

"  You  hadn't  asked  me  since  you  came  home  about 
my  stories,"  she  said,  when  a  lull  in  the  eating  of  the 
clams  afforded  opportunity  for  talk.  "  Aren't  you  in- 
terested—  in  me,  if  you  couldn't  be  in  them?  " 

"  I  had  asked  Galton,  who  said  all  the  publishers 
were  dull  and  blind." 

"  That  sounds  as  though  you  were  laughing  at  me." 

"  But  I  am  not.     I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at." 

"  So  you  knew  that  I  had  failed  —  not  a  publisher 
who  would  accept  one  of  my  stories." 

"And  therefore  —  what?"  Conger  asked. 

"  Why,  at  first,"  she  said  frankly,  "  I  was  horribly 
disappointed  and  bitter.  The  world  didn't  appreciate 
me  —  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  It  makes  me 
ashamed  now  to  think  of  that  stupid  mood.  I've  been 
vain.  This  has  opened  my  eyes  to  see  myself."  Sud- 
denly she  broke  off.  "  Are  you  still  quite  sure  we 
were  right  —  about  power  being  the  aim  in  life?" 

He  turned  to  look  at  her.  There  was  even  a  new 
tone  in  her  voice.  The  self-centred  girl  by  disappoint- 
ment had  found  herself  and  become  a  woman.  A 
still  stronger  emotion,  stronger  than  Conger  Howe  sus- 
pected, had  been  at  work  quietly  but  steadily  trans- 
forming Barbara  from  something  that  rippled  and 
danced  in  the  sun  into  something  that  could  also  move 
calmly  because  it  was  deep  and  strong. 

"Your  opinion  has  been  changing,  then?"  he 
asked.  "  I,  too,  from  the  opposite  direction,  perhaps, 
have  been  coming  to  the  same  point.  If  disappoint- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       185 

ment  has  led  you  to  question  life's  object,  success,  the 
material  success  for  which  I  strove,  has  been  leading 
me  to  mistrust  power." 

"And  in  its  place  you  have  substituted  —  what?" 
she  asked,  and  he  confessed : 

"  I  haven't  got  so  far  as  that  —  power  no  longer 
satisfies.  Perhaps  you  have  some  explanation." 

Nothing  could  have  shown  more  clearly  how  Bar- 
bara had  grown  than  the  distress  his  confession  caused 
her.  His  idea  of  power  must  have  been  so  much  less 
than  hers  if  he  could  regard  his  own  business  pros- 
perity as  worthy  of  such  a  title!  For  that  was  merely 
the  possession  of  wealth,  and  it  was  hard  to  picture 
Conger  Howe  as  caring  supremely  for  that. 

"  No,"  she  confessed,  "  I  have  no  explanation  —  only 
somehow  I'm  sure  there  must  be  a  better  object  than 
power.  I  no  longer  want  power  so  much  as  —  as  I 
thought  I  did." 

"  Possibly,"  he  said,  "  you  have  come  to  feel  that 
what  counts  most  is  not  what  you  do,  but  what  you 
are." 

"  But,"  she  caught  him  up,  "  isn't  what  you  do  the 
expression  of  wrhat  you  are?  Take  your  own  great 
patron,  Felix  Etron,  as  an  example.  Would  he  still 
be  Felix  £tron  if  he  didn't  paint  his  pictures?  Isn't 
that  his  way  of  giving  out  to  the  world  the  great 
thoughts  that  are  in  him,  the  appreciation  of  beauty, 
the  actual  power  to  make  even  the  commonplace  beau- 
tiful? Think  what  an  inspiration  that  old  French- 
man is  to  thousands  of  people,  to  me  who  have  never 
seen  him,  so  great  an  inspiration  that  I  intend  to  go  to 


186      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

him  some  day  just  to  tell  him  what  he  has  meant  to 
me." 

"  It  is  not  that  I  wish  to  belittle  his  influence,"  Con- 
ger said,  lighting  his  pipe  for  an  after-dinner  smoke, 
"  but  may  it  not  be  that  his  pictures  are  to  you  largely 
what  you  yourself  put  into  them?  You  spoke  once  of 
that  one  that  shows  a  troubled  sea,  the  foreground 
blurred  by  driving  mist,  and  a  girl  down  by  the  water's 
edge  facing  the  wind  and  the  sea." 

"  Yes,"  Barbara  said  dreamily,  recalling  the  picture 
vividly,  "  she  wasn't  prominent  in  it.  You  only  felt 
that  she  was  there  too,  seeing  what  you  saw,  watching 
perhaps  for  some  sail  long  overdue,  shivering  in  the 
dampness  but  dreading  to  give  it  up  and  turn  her 
back  on  it.  And  yet  she  wasn't  the  picture ;  it  was 
the  sea  and  the  wind  and  the  mystery  of  the 
storm." 

"  Proving,"  he  said,  "  that  the  picture  is  a  success 
because  it  doesn't  illustrate;  it  doesn't  tell  a  story;  it 
is  a  vehicle  for  the  thoughts  and  imaginations  and 
ideals  of  such  as  you  who  have  something  to  put  into 
it.  To  come  back  to  our  question,  it  seems  to  me  that 
it  is  given  to  some  of  us  to  influence  only  a  few;  to 
others  many;  what  counts  isn't  the  number  reached, 
but  the  kind  of  influence  exerted.  And  I  have  come 
to  believe  that  the  best  kind  is  what  we  exert  uncon- 
sciously. Therefore,  I  say  what  we  are  is  the  im- 
portant thing,  not  what  we  do." 

Galton,  who  had  stayed  away  as  long  as  he  thought 
necessary,  joined  them  here,  and  Bess  Grayley  fol- 
lowed him. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       187 

"Who  furnished  the  sandwiches?"  Galton  asked. 
"  Because  I'm  going  to  register  a  kick  against  mustard 
on  chicken  and  tongue." 

"  Oh,  don't,  please !  "  Barbara  protested.  "  We  are 
having  such  an  interesting  talk,  and  Conger  was  teach- 
ing me  so  much !  "  Then,  seeing  Galton's  disappoint- 
ment, she  was  sorry  instantly.  It  was  a  trifle  priggish 
not  to  be  willing  to  discuss  sandwiches.  She  did  her 
best  to  be  interested.  Galton,  however,  took  her  al- 
ways as  he  found  her.  He  was  prepared  to  accept 
her  at  the  altar  for  better  or  worse,  which  alternative 
seemed  to  him  distinctly  a  feminine  characteristic,  a 
fickle  quality  which  most  men  escaped  in  themselves, 
but  had  to  put  up  with  as  the  one  drawback  to  married 
bliss. 

Bess  Grayley  saw  the  change  in  Barbara  and  made 
a  note  that  Barbara  was  losing  her  charm.  She  had 
always  been  one  of  the  coy  sort,  uncertain  with  her 
girl  friends,  and  quite  inclined  to  flirt  with  her  boy 
friends.  Now  here  she  was  at  twenty-five  becoming 
serious  and  even  bothering  her  head  about  abstract 
questions. 

Barbara  was  going  to  become  one  of  those  cultured 
women  that  are  so  tiresome  to  their  friends.  Galton 
had  better  hurry  up  and  marry  her  before  she  became 
impossible.  This  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  heard 
her  call  Conger  by  his  first  name.  It  was  time  to  bring 
matters  to  a  climax  with  Conger  or  that  strange  per- 
son might  take  it  into  his  head  to  fall  in  love  with 
Barbara.  All  this  Bess  Grayley  had  time  to  consider 
before  joining  in  the  conversation. 


i88      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

It  was  Gallon  who  drew  her  out  by  asking  why  she 
was  so  chatty. 

"  I  was  going  to  suggest  to  Conger  this  very  min- 
ute," she  said,  "  that  he  and  I  were  simply  in  your 
way.  I  know  —  you  needn't  protest,  either  of  you 
—  you  have  very  little  time  to  see  each  other,  with 
Galton  up  town  all  summer,  and  it's  the  least  we  can 
do  to  give  you  this  cosy  evening  to  yourselves." 

"  But  we  don't  want  to  be  by  ourselves !  "  Barbara 
protested. 

Conger  had  started  to  rise ;  it  was  growing  dark  and 
he  could  only  dimly  see  her  face,  but  he  felt  a  detain- 
ing hand  on  his  sleeve,  more  eloquent  than  words,  and 
he  needed  no  further  persuasion  to  stay.  Bess,  who 
hadn't  seen  this  mute  appeal,  redoubled  her  efforts  to 
carry  her  point,  and  Galton's  mild  "  Oh,  nonsense, 
Bess!  You  mustn't  consider  us,"  was  too  thinly 
veiled  to  serve  as  a  protest. 

"Aren't  you  coming,  Conger?"  Bess  cried,  rising 
with  a  great  deal  of  unnecessary  shaking  out  of  skirts 
to  make  her  action  apparent  to  all  the  circle. 

The  whole  company  had  drawn  up  around  a  pretty 
log  fire  of  driftwood  gathered  along  the  shore.  Dark- 
ness and  falling  dew  had  brought  just  enough  of  chill 
to  make  the  fire  grateful.  A  flood  tide  lapped  the 
beach  gently  just  below  them,  and  the  black  water  be- 
yond the  reach  of  the  bonfire's  glow  was  cold  and 
treacherous  and  full  of  mystery.  Laughter  and  shout- 
ing had  given  place  with  the  fading  light  to  quiet  and 
subdued  conversation. 

Conger  had  felt  a  tug  at  his  sleeve  and  to  his  own 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       189 

surprise  that  slight  pressure,  amounting  to  no  more 
than  a  subtle  invitation  to  remain,  outweighed  the 
spoken  appeal  of  the  girl  who  up  to  that  very  moment 
had  been  his  best  friend.  There  was  in  that  appeal  of 
Bess's  too  much  of  the  married  woman's  brandishing 
of  her  marriage  license.  It  was  the  tone  that  conveyed 
a  righteous  criticism  from  one  authorized  to  criticize, 
and  it  took  C.  Howe  back  as  by  magic  to  the  days  in 
China  with  his  mandarin,  to  the  ideals  of  China  as 
to  marriage  and  woman's  place.  It  roused  the  old 
scorn  for  the  claims  of  women  in  America.  It  was 
but  the  flaming  up  of  the  embers  in  a  dying  flare,  but, 
while  it  lasted,  Conger  felt  his  old  repugnance  against 
dominant  females  and  their  attempts  to  run  his  affairs. 
Nothing  that  Bess  could  say  would  have  moved  him. 
while  that  mood  lasted.  It  was  China  reasserting  it- 
self. Bess  was  too  bright  to  press  for  an  answer. 
They  were  not  married  yet.  Afterwards  —  that 
would  'be  very  different.  He  would  come  when  he 
was  called  then ;  but  now  —  one  must  be  so  much  more 
gentle  in  the  art  of  angling  than  in  the  more  prosaic 
treatment  o¥  the  fish  that  has  been  securely  hooked. 
So  she  laughed  it  off,  called  him  a  wayward,  self-willed 
boy,  spoiled  by  long  residence  in  heathen  lands.  And 
then  she  joined  the  nearest  little  group,  and  became  the 
Jife  of  the  party.  She  laughed  with  even  more  hearty 
merriment  than  the  humor  of  the  party  demanded,  so 
that  Conger  might  note  what  he  had  missed,  and  might 
appreciate  her  as  the  life  and  soul  of  any  company. 
Talk  among  the  three  thus  left  was  unsatisfactory. 
Galton  and  Conger  knew  each  other  so  well  there 


190      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

seemed  to  be  no  need  of  saying  anything,  and  for 
reasons  of  her  own  Barbara  was  very  quiet. 

Some  one  suggested  it  was  time  to  go  home.  The 
dying  fire  was  left  to  smoulder  and  die,  to  change  from 
a  warm,  glowing  thing  of  life  to  dead,  cold  ashes. 
Lanterns  were  lighted  to  show  the  road,  for  the  night 
was  very  dark  now,  and  in  twos  and  threes  the  merry 
company  stole  back  silently  from  the  shore,  carrying 
empty  baskets  and  the  dejected  dishes  that  went  forth 
50  gaily  decked  in  parsley,  now  recklessly  jolted,  un- 
washed memorials  of  a  joyous  past. 

Galton  was  as  near  to  being  displeased  with  Conger 
as  he  had  ever  been.  There  was  no  reason  why  Con- 
ger should  have  stuck  to  them  after  Bess  Grayley's 
broad  hint  that  he  wasn't  wanted.  It  was  simply  his 
obstinacy.  Barbara  might  easily  have  allowed  him 
to  go  instead  of  saying  what  she  did.  And  to  punish 
them  both  Galton  walked  up  with  Bess  Grayley,  leav- 
ing Conger  and  Barbara  to  get  on  as  best  they  could. 
They  had  no  lamp,  but  Conger  carried  a  huge  tin  pail, 
and  a  basket  which  had  contained  Barbara's  contribu- 
tion to  the  supper.  In  front  of  them  giant  shadows 
stalked  along  the  edge  of  the  woods,  tall  as  the  pines, 
cast  by  the  lantern  hung  low  from  a  woman's  hand  as 
she  walked.  Barbara  clung  to  his  arm  that  they 
might  not  wander  from  the  road. 

"  Were  you  amused  at  my  confession  of  failure  ?  " 
she  asked,  gently. 

"Amused?     No,  not  that." 

"  Well,  you  had  a  perfect  right  to  be.  I'm  awfully 
ashamed  when  I  look  back  at  that  ride  a  year  ago  when 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       191 

I  asked  for  your  opinion,  and  then  was  angry  because 
I  got  it.  My  vanity  couldn't  stand  the  shock." 

'  You  see,  with  me  it  is  different  from  what  you 
think,"  he  said,  trying  to  make  it  easier  for  her.  "  I 
have  not  even  yet  mastered  the  English  idiom  so  as 
to  express  that  shade  of  meaning  which  I  should  wish 
to  employ." 

"  No,"  she  broke  in,  "  I  will  not  have  it  so.  You 
told  me  candidly  that  my  story  was  poor.  And  it  was 
poor,  but  I  hadn't  the  decency  to  bear  disappointment, 
and  so  —  I  was  contemptible !  " 

They  trudged  along  for  a  minute  in  silence;  then 
he  explained. 

"  It  was  only  natural  that  you  should  be  annoyed. 
When  one  has  just  finished  a  piece  of  work,  picture 
or  story  or  whatsoever  it  may  be,  it  is  so  near  that  its 
author  cannot  see  over  or  round  it;  it  fills  his  horizon 
for  the  moment.  So  he  always  believes  it  the  best 
thing  he  has  ever  done,  when  it  may  be  the  poorest. 
After  a  while  it  looks  different  because  he  gets  away 
from  it." 

"  No  apologies  on  my  behalf,"  she  insisted.  "  These 
bobbing  lights  must  take  you  back  to  Peking. 
You  see  you  are  still  in  the  shadow  of  Lantern 
Street." 

"  I  shall  always  be  in  the  shadow  of  Lantern  Street," 
he  answered,  simply,  "  the  gray  shadow  from  which 
I  came." 

"  Oh,  but  I  didn't  mean  that !  "  and,  unconsciously, 
the  hold  upon  his  arm  tightened. 

Barbara  Wrayton  was  no   longer   the  girl   whose 


192      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

thought  was  always  of  herself;  she  had  become  keenly 
sensitive  for  others. 

"  You  needn't  fear  for  me,"  he  said  gently;  "  always 
there  is  the  shadow,  but  the  sunshine  is  far  stronger 
than  the  shadow.  And,  after  all,  it  must  be  reason 
that  governs  a  man,  not  emotions." 

"  But  emotions  are  much  more  thrilling  than  cold 
common-sense.  It's  a  pity  to  tie  their  hands  as  long 
as  they  behave  themselves." 

"  As  long  as  they  behave,"  he  repeated.  "  But  that 
isn't  always  the  case.  They  have  a  habit  of  not  be- 
having. My  first  lessons  in  childhood  were  by  way 
of  covering  up  every  emotion.  The  man  with  whom 
I  lived  acted  always  in  accordance  with  his  emotions 
—  and  they  were  always  vicious.  Your  emotions  tell 
you  only  what  you  would  like  to  do." 

"  Well,"  Barbara  remarked  thoughtfully,  "  a  really 
nice  person  doesn't  often  wish  to  do  what  isn't  right 
and  proper." 

He  made  no  reply,  and  she  asked :  "  Isn't  that 
so?" 

"  If  that  is  true,  I  am  not  a  nice  person,"  he  replied 
frankly. 

She  thought  of  his  parentage;  his  Chinese  father 
and  more  doubtful  mother  —  his  early  life  that  must 
have  been  spent  among  the  most  corrupting  influences 
of  a  land  where  Christianity  is  unknown. 

Perhaps  he  wasn't  a  nice  person,  according  to  the 
narrowest  standards,  yet  here  she  was,  a  girl,  virtually 
engaged  to  another  man,  clinging  to  this  man's  arm 
in  the  dark.  Despite  this  reflection  she  hadn't  thought 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       193 

of  releasing  his  arm  and  running  ahead  to  join  the 
group  of  good  reliable  Christians  whose  parentage  was 
vouched  for  in  church  records  and  family  Bibles. 
These  confessions  had  not  made  him  repulsive.  Per- 
haps something  was  inherently  wrong  with  herself  also, 
for  she  continued  to  walk  with  him,  and  to  hold  his 
arm,  and  there  was  no  perceptible  quickening  in  her 
gait. 

He  had  dismissed  the  emotions  in  favor  of  a  present 
sensation  that  pleased  him.  "  Locust  blossoms,"  he 
exclaimed,  sniffing  the  cool  air  delightedly,  "  and  fresh 
hay  raked  in  windrows  and  left  in  the  field.  I  saw  it 
there  as  we  came  down.  It  always  reminds  me  of  my 
mandarin,  my  first  happy  days, —  my  mandarin  with- 
out whom  I  should  now  be  a  coolie  in  Peking,  dragging 
a  'rickshaw  through  the  streets,  earning  about  twenty 
cents  a  day  and  living  in  every  other  respect  the  life  of 
a  cab-horse." 

"  Galton  has  told  me  about  it,"  Barbara  said,  with 
remarkable  sympathy  in  her  tone  for  one  who  had  been 
so  recently  asking  herself  whether  she  ought  to  con- 
demn him  as  a  heathen.  "  But  I  never  thought  of  it 
as  such  a  narrow  escape.  Somehow  it  seemed  to  me 
that,  if  you  hadn't  happened  upon  the  blind  mandarin, 
you  would  have  made  a  place  for  yourself  somewhere, 
because  —  well,  because  you  are  you." 

"  That  is  very  kind,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  am  not 
at  all  sure  I  could  have  done  more  than  fit  into  a  place 
if  I  happened  to  find  it.  Making  a  place  in  the  world 
is  such  an  energetic  job.  Galton  could  do  it,  with  his 
dominating  will." 


194      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Dominating  will,"  she  thought.  "  Is  he  going  to 
dominate  me  ?  "  Aloud  she  asked,  "  Do  you  think  he 
will  dominate  his  wife?" 

"  Why  not?  "  Conger  flashed  back  so  suddenly  that 
he  hadn't  time  to  check  it.  The  girl  was  startled ;  the 
light  hand  on  his  sleeve  told  him  that. 

"  Do  you  think,"  she  began,  then  abruptly  dropping 
the  question, — "  I  forgot  —  your  Chinese  ideas  as  to 
women's  inferiority,  and  the  rights  of  husbands." 

"  Fast  being  remodelled,  these  Chinese  ideas,  to  suit 
American  customs,"  he  replied,  not  attempting  to  de- 
bate the  question  of  woman's  inferiority.  "  To  go 
back  to  Galton,  he  typifies  energy,  force  —  of  body  and 
brain." 

"  In  the  Bible  it  wasn't  force  that  could  remove 
mountains,  it  was  faith,"  Barbara  said,  and  he  laugh- 
ingly admitted, 

"  I  am  not  so  well  versed  in  the  Scripture,  but  I  re- 
call that  saying.  The  answer  is  —  no  one  ever  be- 
lieves it  is  true.  It  is  like  the  rich  man  and  the  camel's 
eye  —  hyperbole  the  rhetoric  calls  it." 

"  You  know, -it  wasn't  the  camel's  eye,"  she  corrected 
him,  wondering  whether  he  was  merely  being  perverse, 
but  he  passed  it  over  with  the  remark,  "  The  particular 
eye  doesn't  matter ;  only,  when  Americans  do  not  un- 
derstand the  modern  Orientals,  they  call  them  liars 
and  cheats.  They  have  plenty  of  excuses  for  those  of 
twenty  centuries  ago." 

"  Have  your  own  way  about  that  if  you  will,"  she 
yielded.  "  But  I  find  I'm  not  so  keen  about  strength 
as  I  used  to  be.  It's  all  right  among  men;  they  all 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       195 

worship  it,  but  women  like  a  little  weakness  here  and 
there.  It  gives  them  their  chance  to  be  useful.  Chil- 
dren and  drunkards  and  sick  people  and  prisoners  — 
they  all  appeal  to  us  because  we  can  see  they  need  us." 

"  Women  have  always  been  out  of  my  line,"  Conger 
said.  "  Ya-tzu  was  kind  to  me  when  I  was  little,  but 
over  here  —  Bess  has  been  recently  concerned  for  my 
welfare." 

"And  I  — a  little?" 

He  made  no  reply;  it  wasn't  the  same  thing,  this 
interest  of  a  girl  who  was  completely  absorbed  in  an- 
other man's  welfare.  They  had  come  to  the  end  of 
their  walk,  and  as  he  surrendered  the  pail  and  the 
basket  to  Barbara  at  her  doorstep,  Galton  was  wait- 
ing to  forgive  her  for  her  thoughtless  treatment  of 
him.  Magnanimity  radiated  from  him,  vibrated  in 
the  tone  in  which  he  thanked  Conger  for  carrying  her 
belongings. 

"  She  is  a  little  lax  —  always  has  been,"  he  explained, 
"  when  it  comes  to  remembering  her  duty  to  people." 

"  For  goodness'  sake !  "  she  retorted  tartly.  "  Am 
I  already  under  obligation  to  you;  must  I  think  of 
duty?" 

"  Decidedly  you  must,"  Galton  answered,  firmly. 

It  was  much  the  same  Barbara  that  she  was  when 
Galton  had  first  seen  her  who  rippled  back  at  him  with 
a  mocking  laugh  and,  as  she  disappeared  into  the  house, 
called,  "  Don't  try  that  sort  of  stuff  with  me !  Good 
night,  Conger."  And  the  front  door  closed  with  a 
bang. 

The  two  friends  stood  for  a  moment  watching  to  see 


196      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

her  reappear,  then  Gal  ton  with  a  show  of  confidence 
tried  to  laugh  it  off. 

"  They  have  tempers,  you  see,  the  best  of  them,  and 
I  put  it  a  little, too  plainly,"  he  said,  as  they  turned 
away.  "  A  little  of  your  Chinese  ideas  wouldn't  hurt 
our  American  girls.  A  man  ought  to  be  the  head  of 
his  own  family;  there  cannot  be  two  captains  aboard 
the  same  ship,  as  my  father  often  remarks." 

"  But  this  sounds  like  heresy  from  an  American," 
Conger  answered.  "  And  as  applied  to  Miss  Wrayton, 
are  you  not  a  little  premature  ?  " 

"It's  been  going  on  too  long;  that's  the  trouble," 
Galton  confessed.  "  She  grows  careless  and  indiffer- 
ent, and  I  cross  and  exacting.  But  what's  the  use  of 
telling  you?  You  don't  even  think  I  ought  to  marry 
her,  but  I'm  going  to  marry  her  —  within  four  months 
—  and  this  little  quarrel  will  only  hasten  the  day." 

Conger  made  no  reply.  Lover's  quarrels,  the  treat- 
ment due  from  each  to  each,  the  proper  conduct  of 
friendship  with  a  woman,  were  problems  outside  his 
knowledge  or  experience.  Nevertheless  he  had 
thought  lately  that  he  would  be  happier  to  have  a  home 
of  his  own,  and  that  meant  a  wife  to  preside  over  it. 
The  picture  was  not  complete  without  children.  Then 
came  the  limitation  of  his  possible  choice.  He  knew 
so  few  girls!  In  fact,  he  knew  but  one  who  would 
be  at  all  likely  to  listen  to  a  proposal  of  that  sort  — 
for  it  was  as  a  proposal,  not  as  a  suit,  that  his  mind 
viewed  it. 

"  You  are  not  very  communicative,"  Galton  said, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       197 

when  they  had  come  opposite  the  Gragg  house.  "  I 
hope  you  didn't  think  I  was  blaming  you." 

"  Blaming  me  ?  You  mean  for  Miss  Wrayton's 
lack  of  —  submission  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  old  jackass,  I  never  could  explain  what 
I  mean.  Only  I  do  not  in  the  least  blame  you  —  for 
anything." 

They  said  good  night,  and  Conger  went  on  alone, 
wondering  about  marriage  and  whether  he  had  better 
try  it,  also. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

The  cliff  directly  in  front  of  Myrick's  jutted  out  in 
a  bold  promontory.  Some  winter  storm  worse  than 
the  rest  must  have  torn  away  the  bank  on  each  side 
of  it,  leaving  this  headland  for  a  silent  witness  to  test- 
tify  to  the  fury  of  an  angry  sea.  If  Felix  fitron  him- 
self had  approached  it  from  the  land  one  afternoon  in 
July,  he  would  have  found  there  the  material  for  a 
portrait.  A  tall  man,  all  in  white,  stood  alone  at  the 
very  edge  of  the  cliff,  his  hands  clasped  behind  him, 
his  thick  dark  hair  falling  over  his  forehead,  shading 
a  little  the  thin  straight  features  and  the  deep  set 
eyes  that  looked  intently  seaward.  Not  a  sail  was  in 
sight,  only  a  murky  cloud  low  down  in  the  northwest 
like  heavy  smoke  from  a  steamer  below  the  horizon. 
The  air  was  very  still  and  hot.  A  deep,  far-off  rumble 
disturbed  the  quiet  with  its  long  vibration,  and  the 
yellow  dog  that  lay  panting  with  dripping  tongue,  rose 
and  found  a  new  spot  where  he  could  lie  within  the 
touch  of  his  master's  foot.  Contact,  to  the  yellow  dog, 
meant  confidence,  and  he  hated  sharp  sounds,  in  fact 
he  frankly  admitted  that  he  was  gun  shy. 

The  man  appeared  to  notice  neither  the  distant  mut- 
tering of  thunder  nor  the  close  approach  of  the  dog 
resting  against  his  heel.  His  thoughts  were  busy  with 
the  settling  of  a  new  and  vital  question  that  had  leaped 
full  grown  out  of  the  night,  demanding  an  answer. 
To  his  horror  he  had  found  himself  deeply  stirred  by 

198 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       199 

Barbara  Wrayton,  interested  in  Galton  Gragg's  prom- 
ised bride,  and  he  felt  like  a  thief, —  not  as  the  thief 
feels,  hardened  to  misdeeds,  by  long  indulgence,  but 
as  one  just  waking  to  discover  his  own  dishonor,  start- 
ing back  from  the  revelation,  shocked  at  the  sight  of  his 
naked  soul.  Step  by  step,  word  by  word,  he  had  gone 
back  over  their  conversation,  trying  to  put  his  finger 
on  the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  path  of  friendship 
for  Galton,  had  forgotten  that  Barbara  was  Gallon's, 
had  dared  by  so  much  as  a  thought  to  trespass  upon  the 
sacred  ground  of  his  best  friend's  love  for  the  woman. 
When  he  had  left  her,  the  sudden  ending  of  their  talk 
had  been  unsatisfactory;  the  evident  annoyance  of 
Galton  had  disconcerted  him,  so  it  was  with  mixed 
feelings  that  he  had  undressed  and  gone  to  bed  and  .to 
sleep,  feelings  not  clearly  defined,  in  which  he  had  as 
yet  seen  nothing  wherein  to  blame  himself.  But  in 
the  night  while  his  room  was  still  black  he  had  suddenly 
wakened  to  face  this  grave  question,  an  accusation  of 
disloyalty  arising  from  the  darkness  to  point  at  him 
its  finger  and  ask  him  if  he  also  dared  to  love  Barbara 
Wrayton.  His  answer  had  been  ready,  a  stern  denial 
of  any  such  thought,  and  as  an  echo  to  the  denial  the 
whole  question  had  come  back  in  the  vision  of  her 
face  as  she  said  good  night  —  to  him  but  not  to  Gal- 
ton—  in  the  light  touch  of  her  hand  on  his  arm. 
There  it  was;  deny  it,  stoutly  as  he  did,  the  question 
remained  a  question,  and  the  clock  on  the  floor  below 
struck  two  and  three  and  four  while  he  lay  there  try- 
ing to  prove  that  it  wasn't  a  question  at  all. 

At  four  it  was  daylight,  and  he  got  up,  put  on  his 


200      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Chinese  overalls  and  went  out  to  work  in  the  garden. 
Years  ago  he  had  learned  that  most  ghosts  can  be  laid 
by  the  sweat  of  the  brow.  In  spite  of  the  strenuous 
labor,  the  run  to  the  shore  and  the  sea  bath  that  fol- 
lowed it,  this  ghost  had  persisted  and  here  he  was  argu- 
ing the  whole  case  from  the  beginning  again  in  the 
attempt  to  prove  to  himself  that  no  ghost  existed. 

That  bunch  of  smoke,  on  the  line  where  sea 
and  sky  met,  was  growing  larger,  yet  not  lengthening 
out  as  smoke  trails  in  the  wind  from  the  funnel  of  a 
steamer.  This  was  bunching  up  blacker  and  more 
threatening  every  minute.  The  wind  came  in  gusts; 
it  blew  the  man's  hair  and  his  shirt  sleeves,  but  he 
seemed  not  to  notice  that  it  was  blowing. 

Sometimes  in  the  early  spring  when  the  snow,  back 
on  the  hillsides,  melts  and  fills  the  brook  with  its  hur- 
rying stream,  a  stray  bit  of  driftwood,  swirled  in  the 
increasing  flood,  is  caught  and  held  for  a  few  minutes 
in  a  sharp  angle.  Here  it  checks  the  rush  of  waters, 
and,  piling  up  back  of  it  every  floating  bit,  adds  its  re- 
sistance, lifting  the  water's  level  to  a  new  height,  until 
suddenly  it  bursts  through  at  a  new  point.  With  a 
great  wave  the  brook  has  changed  its  course,  carrying 
every  obstacle  before  it  in  its  first  wild  stampede. 
And  the  innocent-looking  driftwood  that  was  the  cause 
of  such  violent  change  —  what  becomes  of  that? 

The  storm  was  gathering  within  and  without,  as 
Conger  Howe  stood  there  facing  it,  on  the  cliff  in 
front  of  Myrick's,  and,  as  the  brook  sees  unmoved  the 
driftwood  that  is  destined  to  change  its  course,  so 
Conger  Howe  spied  the  figure  of  a  woman  coming 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      201 

along  the  shore,  and  gave  no  more  heed  to  the  discovery 
than  merely  to  note  that  it  was  a  woman,  and  that  she 
was  hurrying  for  shelter  before  the  storm  should  break. 
For  a  storm  was  coming;  that  little  murky  cloud  had 
multiplied  into  a  great  bank  of  angry  storm  clouds 
from  which  at  intervals  shot  forth  long,  jagged 
streaks  of  lightning  that  tore  them  from  top  to  bot- 
tom. Half  a  minute  later  followed  the  sullen  rumble 
of  distant  thunder,  and  the  woman's  skirts  down  there 
on  the  shore  were  caught  in  a  sudden  gale  that  blew 
them  about  her  in  such  a  tumult  that  she  could  hardly 
walk.  The  edge  of  the  storm  as  it  came  on  across  the 
bay  was  a  curtain  of  rain,  shutting  from  sight  every- 
thing behind  it.  The  woman  watching  it  was  doing 
her  best  to  reach  Myrick's  before  it.  She  had  even 
turned  to  climb  the  path  by  the  old  spring,  when,  with 
a  deafening  crash,  the  thunder  and  the  gale  broke  loose 
together,  and  a  torrent  of  rain  poured  from  the  rent 
and  shattered  heaven.  A  handful  of  shingles  rose 
from  the  tormented  roof  of  Myrick's  barn  and  sailed 
with  the  gale  far  inland.  And  Conger  stood  watching 
the  woman  struggle  towards  him  up  the  path,  and 
nothing  told  him  that  she  was  driftwood  swirling  into 
the  stream  of  his  life  at  the  very  moment  when  its 
course  might  be  diverted  by  a  trifling  accident. 

He  was  staring  facts  in  the  face, —  the  appalling  fact 
that  he  had  for  a  few  hours  dared  to  love  Barbara 
Wrayton.  That  spark  must  be  stamped  out  effectually 
before  any  one  else  should  even  suspect  its  existence. 
And  the  most  effectual  way  to  do  it  was  by  attachment 
to  some  other  girl. 


202      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Just  then  Bess  Grayley's  head  appeared  over  the 
top  of  the  bank.  She  was  dripping  wet,  breathless 
and  frightened  by  the  crash  and  fury  of  the  storm  now 
raging  at  its  height.  Her  straw  hat  hung  limp  and 
shapeless  about  her  ears,  its  bright  blue  ribbons  black 
with  water.  Her  skirt  gave  forth  sundry  little  streams 
from  its  bedraggled  folds,  and  she  was  shivering.  Be- 
fore Conger  could  say  a  word  to  reassure  her,  the  yel- 
low dog  was  on  his  feet,  growling  and  showing  a  vi- 
cious array  of  teeth. 

The  yellow  dog  would  not  have  invited  her  within 
Myrick's  doubtful  shelter,  but  his  master  did,  and  the 
yellow  dog  showed  his  disapproval  in  his  own  way. 
The  front  end  of  the  studio,  when  the  big  doors  were 
shut,  afforded  at  least  a  dry  shelter  from  the  storm. 
Bess  sat  on  the  rough  bench  and  Conger  threw  over  her 
his  coat  and  a  red  blanket  that  served  usually  for  a 
cushion,  but  had  been  known  to  transform  Relief  Snow 
into  a  beautiful  barbarian.  Bess  was  still  shivering 
and  alarmed,  sitting  there  well  wrapped  up,  so  terri- 
fied that  she  clung  to  Conger's  hand,  and  he  stood  be- 
side her  to  give  her  confidence.  She  had  taken  off  her 
shapeless  hat  and  pressed  her  head  against  his  side, 
not  unconscious  that  it  was  still  a  pretty  head  despite 
its  rumpled  hair.  If  either  of  them  had  given  a 
thought  to  the  yellow  dog  they  would  have  noticed 
that  his  sensitive  nose  sniffed  once  or  twice  as  though 
it  had  discovered  something.  Then  they  might  have 
seen  him  walk  calmly  over  to  the  screen  that  stood 
half  open  in  a  far  corner,  where  his  front  half  was 
lost  to  sight  while  an  expressive  rear  told  by  the  os- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      203 

dilations  of  his  tail  that  he  had  found  something  which 
pleased  him  mightily.  But  the  two  were  quite  taken 
up  with  each  other,  with  the  strangeness  of  their  being 
thus  brought  together  at  a  time  when  a  young  lady 
might  naturally  be  frightened,  a  time  when  Conger 
was  peculiarly  sensitive  to  appeals  to  his  gallantry. 

The  flashes  and  the  crashes  were  coming  so  near  to- 
gether that  it  was  plain  that  the  storm  was  directly 
over  them.  No  wonder  the  girl  found  it  comforting 
to  lean  upon  this  strong  man,  to  press  close  against 
him,  to  whisper  little  words  of  endearment  wrung  from 
her  unwilling  lips  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment. 
His  hand  once  more  stroked  the  fair  hair  to  reassure 
her.  He  hardly  knew  that  he  did  it,  for  she  was 
trembling,  her  teeth  were  chattering,  she  was  a  child 
in  her  terror.  A  wife  like  this  would  be  a  blessing  to 
a  lonely  man,  because  she  would  need  him  and  it  is  a 
joy  to  a  strong  man  to  protect  those  who  need  pro- 
tection. This  thought  was  taking  form  in  his  mind 
slowly  when  she  said,  "  I  was  frightened.  Thunder 
always  frightens  me.  You  are  so  strong.  You'll 
think  me  a  dreadful  baby,  but — "  A  terrific  crash 
that  shook  the  frail  building  drowned  the  rest  of  her 
sentence.  It  must  have  struck  very  near  them,  and 
it  only  strengthened  the  desperate  grip  with  which  she 
clung  to  her  protector.  If  one  must  die  the  other 
could  not  escape. 

"  There  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  he  assured  her, 
and  she,  looking  up  into  his  face,  declared,  "  I  don't 
care  what  comes,  so  long  as  —  as  I  have  you." 

His  surprise  at  so  plain  a  statement  showed  in  a 


204      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

momentary  embarrassment,  then  something  whispered 
in  his  ear  that  this  was  his  opportunity  for  happiness. 

Galton  and  Barbara  would  find  their  little  difference 
settled  automatically.  Bess  Grayley  would  be  a  de- 
voted wife,  distinctly  ornamental,  and  as  Galton's  and 
Barbara's  friend  she  would  not  separate  him  from 
them.  That  counted  for  even  more  than  he  was  will- 
ing to  admit  to  himself.  Marriage  for  him  would 
undoubtedly  be  desirable;  his  marriage  just  now 
would  likewise  be  desirable  for  all  concerned.  He 
was  too  modest  to  acknowledge  the  suspicion  that  Gal- 
ton's  chances  would  be  improved  if  he  were  out  of  the 
question.  Perhaps  it  was  simply  Barbara's  innate 
fondness  for  conquest,  a  winning  little  tendency  to- 
ward flirtation.  While  his  thoughts  were  thus  calmly 
ranging  the  whole  field,  Bess  had  caught  his  right 
hand  in  hers,  and  pressed  it  to  her  lips.  The  golden 
hair  on  which  he  looked  down  was  very  soft  and 
beautiful;  he  could  feel  her  warm  lips  on  his  fingers. 
Fear  must  have  caused  her  completely  to  forget  all 
the  reserves  with  which  such  a  girl  habitually  sur- 
rounded herself.  She  dropped  his  hand  and  asked 
very  softly: 

"  Do  you  care  —  a  little  tiny  bit?  " 

"  You  mean,"  he  asked,  "  do  I  care  for  you  —  that 
much?" 

"  Yes,  do  you  care  —  at  all?  "  She  was  trembling 
again,  violently  agitated,  as  her  voice  betrayed.  The 
man  who  knew  so  little  of  women,  whose  mind  always 
harked  back  to  Chinese  customs,  felt  that  he  was  being 
made  love  to,  and  he  shrank  from  the  idea,  while  the 


205 

fact  under  such  circumstances  was  not  displeasing. 
The  woman  needed  him ;  that  was  the  strong  point  in 
her  favor.  She  was  afraid,  and  conventions  were  for- 
gotten. But  she  was  waiting  for  an  answer,  knowing 
as  well  as  he  that  the  thunder  and  the  storm  and  the 
proximity  had  more  influence  upon  him  than  any  ad- 
miration for  Bess  Grayley's  character  or  accomplish- 
ments. 

He  had  never  known  a  similar  experience,  save  that 
of  a  year  ago  with  the  same  woman ;  he  was  therefore 
at  a  great  disadvantage  in  appraising  his  own  feelings. 
This  seemed  like  love,  was  in  fact  what  most  people 
mistake  for  love  at  some  time  in  their  life. 

Before  answering  he  looked  down  and  met  her  eyes 
looking  straight  into  his  for  their  answer.  They  were 
pretty  eyes  and  they  held  an  intensity  at  that  moment 
that  seemed  to  tell  him  that  life  or  death  hung  on  his 
decision  —  that  their  light  would  go  out  forever  if 
he  admitted  that  he  didn't  care  —  a  little. 

The  change  in  his  estimate  of  women,  gradually  as 
it  had  come  about,  was  difficult  for  him  even  now  to 
appreciate;  that  a  modest  woman  should  take  the 
initiative  was  extremely  distasteful.  In  spite  of  this, 
as  he  looked  into  her  eyes,  he  seemed  to  see  the  fires 
beneath  them  glowing  through.  His  old  boyish  hun- 
ger for  love  overcame  every  lesser  thought  and  feeling. 

"  I  care  very,  very  much,"  he  said,  and  took  her  up- 
turned face  between  his  two  hands.  Even  to  his  in- 
experience the  attitude  of  her  lips  suggested  the  ex- 
pectation of  a  kiss.  Never  before  had  he  kissed  a 
woman,  but  he  did  so  then,  and  Bess's  arms  about  his 


206      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

neck  prevented  it  from  being  of  the  hurried  or  per- 
functory sort.  When  he  could  control  his  voice  to 
speak  he  asked, 

"  Does  this  surrender  mean  that  I  may  have  you 
for  my  wife?  " 

She  smiled  at  the  mention  of  surrender,  for  she  un- 
derstood who  had  been  ambushed,  understood  so  well 
that  she  was  glad  the  yellow  dog  couldn't  talk;  even 
he  must  have  seen  how  little  Conger  Howe  had  had  to 
do  with  it. 

"  Do  you  really  want  me  for  your  wife?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "  I  need  you,  I  want  you,  I 
want  a  good  woman's  love." 

She  had  risen  that  he  might  take  her  in  his  arms, 
and  from  that  shelter  she  now  whispered: 

"All  that  I  have,  all  that  I  am,  is  yours.  Oh,  if 
you  only  knew  how  much  I  need  to  have  some  one  of 
my  own,  some  one  to  look  after  me,  to  care  whether 
I  am  happy  or  not!  My  life  has  been  wretched;  you 
will  lift  me  out  of  it  so  that  I  can  show  some  of  these 
cats  that  they've  made  a  mistake !  " 

Her  voice  gained  in  strength  as  she  went  on  review- 
ing her  ambitions;  its  tone  jarred  discordantly  on 
Conger's  dream  of  love.  The  tender  sentiments,  the 
hopes  and  confidences  that  trembled  on  his  lips,  ready 
to  find  sympathy  in  this  wonderful  new  intimacy,  re- 
mained unuttered,  not  that  he  consciously  refrained 
from  expressing  them ;  love  was  not  so  overpowering, 
so  absorbing  as  he  had  fancied  it.  Even  in  its  first 
grip  it  left  you  keenly  conscious  of  your  surroundings, 
almost  inclined  to  be  critical,  perhaps  a  little  disap^ 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      207 

pointed  that  a  woman  didn't  seem  like  an  angel.  After 
the  first  it  was  she  who  did  the  leading,  asked  whether 
they  should  be  married  at  once,  how  well  they  could 
afford  to  live.  He  was  conscious  once  more,  at  this 
point,  of  a  distinct  and  disconcerting  jar.  He  felt 
curiously  cold  and  indifferent  about  it  all,  even  as  he 
stood  there  with  the  pretty  blonde  head  so  close  to  his ; 
in  the  very  climax  of  the  woman's  surrender  he  hardly 
knew  what  he  was  saying,  vaguely  aware  of  questions 
launched,  one  after  another,  all  inquisitive  as  to  how 
much  the  woman  was  to  be  paid.  At  least  that  was 
the  interpretation  that  a  mocking  voice  within  him 
insisted  upon  repeating  over  and  over,  as  she  more  and 
more  plainly  betrayed  her  estimate  of  married  bliss  and 
how  to  measure  it. 

The  storm  was  over.  Once  more  the  sun  came  out, 
smiling  like  a  naughty  child  released  from  the  closet, 
and  the  clouds  that  had  wrought  such  havoc  while  he 
had  neglected  his  duties,  now  scurried  off  southward, 
breaking  up  into  harmless  little  groups  that  tried  to 
look  as  though  they  knew  nothing  of  broken  trees, 
levelled  corn  fields  and  devastation.  The  water  still 
dripped  in  dozens  of  places  from  the  drenched  roof; 
it  fell  splashing  into  as  many  little  pools  and  rivulets 
outside  Myrick's  barn,  and  into  a  few  on  the  inside, 
one  of  which  was  just  behind  the  screen  where  the 
yellow  dog  showed  an  interest  not  shared  by  his 
master. 

Conger  noted  a  ray  of  sunlight  that  came  through 
the  roof.  He  thought  how  the  raindrops  would  glit- 
ter and  how  fresh  the  earth  would  smell  after  such  a 


208      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

rain.  He  even  thought  that  he  should  enjoy  his  sup- 
per at  the  inn.  Then  once  more  he  was  conscious  of 
a  great  change,  a  new  responsibility,  a  vague  disap- 
pointment that  he  was  too  loyal  to  harbor. 

"  Come,"  he  said  almost  abruptly ;  "  it  is  time  we 
were  going,"  and  he  flung  open  the  big  doors. 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me  before  we  go  ?  "  she 
asked,  and  he  wondered  why  she  seemed  to  have  a 
grievance,  determined  that  he  should  be  in  some  way 
at  fault.  But  he  kissed  her,  and  they  left  the  barn 
securely  padlocked  on  the  outside,  regardless  of  the 
yellow  dog's  protest  that  things  were  not  as  they 
should  be.  And  when  they  were  a  hundred  yards  away 
from  Myrick's  the  yellow  dog  at  his  master's  heel  kept 
looking  back,  but  the  two  strange  lovers  paid  no  heed 
to  the  yellow  dog. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A  loose  board  at  the  back  of  Myrick's  barn  slid  to 
one  side,  a  bare  brown  foot  and  ankle  stole  cautiously 
out,  followed  by  a  blue-checked  gingham  skirt,  wet 
and  bedraggled.  Last  of  all  came  a  very  pretty  tousled 
head,  brown  curls  framing  a  flushed  and  angry  face. 
But,  angry  or  not,  Relief  was  unmistakably  pretty, 
even  when  she  stamped  upon  the  unoffending  grass 
and  cursed  Miss  Bess  Grayley  with  the  everlasting 
doom  of  the  damned.  She  was  not  careful  of  her 
language,  not  sparing  the  poor  man  whom  she  char- 
acterized as  a  silly  sucking  dove.  He  was  the  stupid 
victim,  poor  witless  man!  But  all  her  wrath  was  for 
the  scheming,  sly  woman.  "  I'll  kill  her  first !  "  she 
said  between  her  clenched  teeth.  "  She'll  never  have 
him,  if  I  have  to  kill  her  to  stop  it!  Oh,  the  snake! 
The  snake !  "  Her  thought  ran  back  to  the  days  of 
her  own  temptation  and  fall.  How  similar  this  was 
to  that !  Only,  that  was  man  tempting,  appealing  to  a 
simple  girl's  vanity  and  love  of  admiration;  this  was 
woman  appealing  to  the  gallantry  of  a  man  as  guileless 
and  unsuspecting  as  Relief  herself  had  been.  It  was 
nothing  but  an  emotional  response  to  the  situation,  and 
Relief,  who  had  no  words  for  it,  recognized  this  fact. 
To  her  it  was  plain  that  Conger  Howe  was  not  at  all 
in  love  with  Miss  Grayley;  she  even  went  so  far  as 

209 


210      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

to  suspect  that  he  was  in  love  with  Barbara  Wrayton, 
and  in  that  she  was  dangerously  near  the  truth,  save 
that  his  loyalty  to  Galton  would  not  suffer  him  to 
confess  it  even  to  himself.  In  any  event  one  thing 
became  clearer  to  her  than  ever  before :  the  utter  hope- 
lessness of  her  infatuation  for  the  artist  who  had  seen 
in  her  only  a  picturesque  model,  while  she  saw  in  him 
the  divinity  who  possessed  in  one  person  every  ador- 
able attribute.  With  such  a  being  it  was  impossible  to 
be  angry;  his  ignorance  and  stupidity  about  women 
only  made  him  the  more  attractive. 

She  had  almost  reached  home  when  she  heard  voices 
just  ahead.  A  man  said :  "  My  hearty  congratula- 
tions, old  chap;  this  is  delightful.  What  fun  we  four 
can  have  together!  "  Relief  left  the  path  and,  skirting 
it  through  the  bushes,  came  close  to  them  where  she 
could  see  and  hear  quite  unobserved.  It  was  Galton 
Gragg  who  had  spoken,  and  Miss  Wrayton  who  was 
with  him  didn't  appear  to  share  his  enthusiasm.  She 
seemed  to  Relief  to  be  looking  reproachfully  at  the 
artist,  almost  scornfully.  The  only  one  of  the  four 
wholly  at  ease  and  blissfully  happy  was  Miss  Bess 
Grayley.  Evidently  she  hadn't  lost  a  minute  in  an- 
nouncing her  engagement.  The  man  wasn't  going  to 
escape  her  now  that  she  had  trapped  him.  "  I  dare- 
say the  cat  will  lead  him  to  the  parson  on  her  way  home, 
and  have  the  knot  tied  before  he  can  have  time  to 
think  it  over."  So  Relief's  thoughts  ran  while  two  of 
the  four  continued  to  express  the  usual  vague  and  op- 
timistic sentiments  concerning  marriage  in  general  and 
this  coming  one  in  particular  as  an  example  of  utmost 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      211 

fitness.  Plainly  enough  the  event,  which  was  a  divine 
inspiration  as  seen  by  Miss  Grayley  and  Galton,  was  an 
embarrassing  surprise  to  the  artist  and  a  shocking  dis- 
appointment to  Miss  Barbara. 

"  You  see,"  Miss  Grayley  said,  in  her  liveliest  man- 
ner, "  it  took  Conger  some  time  to  discover  it  because 
he  is  so  modest,  but  I've  known  what  he  really  thought 
about  it  for  weeks.  The  poor  dear  old  goose  couldn't 
conceal  it  from  me." 

This  speech  had  far  from  the  desired  effect  on  Con- 
ger. He  looked  more  disturbed  and  perplexed  than 
ever.  This  air  of  ownership  was  distressing  him. 
Relief  Snow,  who  wasn't  in  their  class,  could  see  it. 
She  knew  him  a  good  deal  better  and  sympathized  with 
him  far  more  than  these  friends  of  his  who  looked 
down  on  her  as  not  good  enough  for  them  to  notice. 

"  Now  come,  Conger,"  Miss  Bess  continued,  "  I 
want  to  break  the  news  to  the  summer  colony  before  " 
—  and,  hesitating  here  for  the  right  word,  she  lost  her 
advantage,  and  Barbara  Wrayton  finished  her  sen- 
tence :  "  Before  C.  Howe  has  time  to  revert  to  his 
Chinese  ideas  of  women  as  chattels?  " 

At  this  sally  Bess  only  laughed.  She  well  knew 
that  those  old  Chinese  notions  were  gone,  and  in  their 
place  she  was  to  teach  him  that  equality  of  the  sexes 
meant  the  rule  of  woman.  Barbara  never  glanced  at 
her,  however;  she  was  studying  that  puzzled  look  on 
Conger's  face  which  had  deepened  to  an  ominous 
frown.  China  was  not  so  far  behind  him  as  Miss 
Grayley  thought.  All  this  the  unhappy  Relief  saw  and 
understood.  She  saw  also  the  quick  look  with  which 


212      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

her  artist  answered  Barbara  Wrayton,  that  it  was  a 
sudden  appeal  to  her  to  understand  what  he  was  doing 
and  why.  This  was  much  for  a  simple  country  girl 
like  Relief  Snow  to  see  and  comprehend,  but  suffering 
and  disappointment  had  taught  Relief  many  things 
about  human  nature.  Her  heart  had  always  been  open 
for  love,  open  in  vain  it  would  seem,  now  her  eyes  and 
mind  were  open  likewise  to  the  things  that  concerned 
love. 

If  Barbara  Wrayton  shared  what  Relief  saw  in  C. 
Howe's  glance  she  did  not  gratify  his  appeal;  instead 
she  laughed  the  careless  rippling  laugh  that  was  half 
merriment,  half  a  challenge,  and  asked  of  Bess,  "  Are 
you  going  to  have  him  keep  on  with  painting  and  pic- 
ture-selling, or  shall  you  have  him  go  into  another  busi- 
ness ?  "  Conger  winced  under  this,  but  not  a  look  be- 
trayed that  he  caught  the  point,  and  Bess,  accepting  it 
as  a  tribute  to  her  right  to  command,  answered  frankly : 
"  My  dear,  we  haven't  been  engaged  fifteen  minutes 
yet  —  it's  too  soon  to  plan  every  detail.  But  one 
thing  I  will  tell  you:  I  mean  that  he  shall  make  the 
most  of  what  ability  he  has." 

Even  Galton  noted  the  new  tone  of  command  in  this 
declaration  and  instinctively  sought  in  his  friend's  face 
the  sympathetic  scowl  to  mark  his  abhorrence  of  it 
which  on  any  previous  occasion  would  surely  have 
been  there.  Only  the  old  puzzled  look  was  between 
Conger's  eyes,  and  Galton,  translating  it  into  terms 
of  conquest,  put  his  hand  on  Conger's  shoulder  and 
said :  "  You  have  a  very  bad  case  of  it.  I  thought 
I  was  pretty  hard  hit,  but  you  are  a  transformed 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      213 

creature.  Only  don't  let  it  go  too  far;  I  should  hate 
like  the  devil  to  see  you  lose  all  your  independence  and 
your  fine  old  heathen  notions  of  what's  what." 

Conger  didn't  answer  this  friendly  rally.  His  deep 
eyes  were  watching  the  duel  flashing  in  rapier  glances 
between  the  two  girls  who  had  so  long  been  friends 
that  words  were  not  needed.  Why  were  they  angry 
with  each  other?  Why  weren't  they  all  the  better 
friends  now  that  this  definite  pairing  off  had  removed 
all  possibilities  of  jealousy?  This  was  puzzling  him; 
what  he  had  done  had  apparently  already  fallen  far 
short  of  his  expectations,  and  he  began  to  fear  that  his 
years  of  observation  and  training  in  America  had,  after 
all,  taught  him  but  little  of  American  women.  He  had 
been  prepared  in  his  first  reaction  against  the  Oriental 
views  to  accord  to  woman  an  exalted  position  as  high 
above  her  deserts  as  the  other  was  below  it.  Now 
suddenly  he  saw  her  revealed  simply  as  a  human  being, 
neither  below  nor  above  man,  dependent  simply  upon 
her  education  and  environment.  Once  more  he  must 
change  his  whole  attitude  towards  life.  For  his  first 
ten  years  life  had  been  something  to  be  endured  sto- 
ically, because  to  show  suffering  was  but  to  invite 
worse.  Then  little  by  little  had  come  revaluation,  new 
ideals,  purpose  and  zest.  Now,  by  this  newest  revela- 
tion, he  could  see  that  Bess  Grayley  had  mistaken  his 
reverence  for  servility;  his  modest  admiration  of  wo- 
man for  cringing  admission  of  his  own  inferiority. 
Like  Samson,  his  next  step,  after  giving  woman  her 
way  with  him,  had  been  to  pull  the  whole  temple  down 
about  his  ears. 


214      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Relief  Snow  had  gone,  her  anger  against  Miss  Gray- 
ley  hotter  than  ever,  her  failure  to  comprehend  the 
artist's  position  only  half  as  complete  as  that  of  the 
two  young  ladies  who  were  his  friends,  but  still  a  very 
distinct  failure  to  see  things  as  he  saw  them.  The 
Snow  family  had  finally  accepted  the  situation  and  with 
it  the  pay  that  Rill  earned  by  her  posing.  Cap'n 
Thoph  had  been  very  sparing  of  details  in  discussing  it 
with  his  wife.  He  had  entirely  omitted  mention  of 
that  little  incident  at  the  fish-house;  it  was  easier  to 
ignore  the  interview  than  to  explain  how  it  resulted. 
But  he  did  say  that  he  had  "  changed  his  mind  about 
that  artist  feller  an'  he  'lowed  no  harm'd  come  to  Rill 
along  o'  him." 

"Wai,  I  hope  not,"  said  Mrs.  Snow.  "It  does 
seem's  though  one  sech  disgrace  is  enough  fer  a  life- 
time. But  she's  awful  took  with  him,  Thoph,  kinder 
moonin'  like,  an'  goin'  off  by  herself,  an'  lookin'  fer 
away.  It's  a  bad  sign  with  a  girl,  leastways  them  as 
ever  I  knew." 

"  But  it  takes  two  to  make  love,  same  as  to  quarrel," 
her  husband  sententiously  remarked. 

"  Thoph,"  Mrs.  Snow  replied,  "  sometimes  it  does 
seem  like  you  didn't  hev  reasonable  common  sense. 
If  the  women  folks  is  ready  an'  willin'  when  it  comes 
to  love-makin'  there  ain't  never  no  dearth  o'  men  to 
jine  'em  —  married  or  single  —  it  don't  make  the  least 
difference.  Two  to  make  love?  Permission  is  all  the 
men  folks  wants,  an'  they'll  do  the  makin',  night  or 
daytimes,  weekdays  or  Sundays.  You  can't  tell  me 
nothin'  'bout  men." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      215 

Twice  Theophilus  Snow  attempted  to  reply ;  his  dig- 
nity was  shocked  —  the  wife  of  a  deacon  uttering  such 
sentiments  as  these !  He  got  as  far  as  standing  very 
straight,  raising  his  hand  and  clearing  his  throat, 
which  was  his  usual  procedure  when  he  rose  in  prayer- 
meeting.  Then  he  thought  better  of  it.  Mrs.  Snow 
was  different  from  a  prayer-meeting.  She  might  an- 
swer back.  So  he  frowned  at  her  prodigiously  and 
ventured  not  a  word. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  Rill  walked  in,  flushed 
and  out  of  sorts,  flopped  down  in  the  rocker  facing 
her  mother  who  was  ironing  a  Sunday  shirt,  and  ex- 
ploded :  "  What  d'you  think  that  silly  thing's  gone  an' 
done,  Ma?  Got  engaged  to  that  she  cat  Grayley. 
Didn't  even  see  that  it  was  all  her  doin'.  Jest  fell  for 
it !  Oh  Lord,  it  fair  makes  one  sick !  And  she  hangin' 
round  his  neck  till  he  had  to  —  like  Jacob  rastlin'  with 
the  Lord  "— 

"  Now  see  here,  Rill,"  her  father  interposed,  "  you 
just  leave  the  Lord  out  o'  this.  It  ain't  fer  sech  as 
you  to  be  drawin'  him  into  the  argyment." 

"  The  Lord  ain't  takin'  no  hand  in  this,"  Relief 
flung  back.  "  It's  the  devil's  work,  pure  an'  simple. 
Pure  an'  simple  —  that's  a  good  description  of  Mr.  C. 
Howe." 

"  I  ain't  so  sure,"  Mrs.  Snow  said,  replacing  one  of 
her  irons  on  the  stove  and  testing  another  by  holding 
it  near  her  cheek. 

"  Listen,  Ma ! "  Relief  got  up  and  stood  at  the 
other  side  of  the  ironing-board.  She  seemed  to  have 
forgotten  her  father's  presence.  "  That  man  ain't 


216       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

thinkin'  about  himself,  the  way  other  folks  do;  say,  I 
seen  him  stand  up  fer  an  hour  because  that  yaller  dog 
was  takin'  a  nap  in  his  chair  an'  he  wouldn't  disturb 
him.  If  I  was  a  queen  he  couldn't  be  no  politer  to  me 
than  what  he  is.  An'  now  he's  marryin'  that  critter  to 
save  her  feelin's.  Well,  you  watch  me,  Ma;  I  ain't 
goin'  to  allow  no  sech  sacrifice.  It's  worse'n  Abra- 
ham layin'  Isaac  on  the  altar." 

"  Careful,  Rill !  "  the  old  man  interrupted.  "  We 
don't  want  no  blarsphemin'." 

"  It  ain't  blasphemin' ;  didn't  the  Lord  provide  a 
ram  caught  in  the  thicket  to  take  poor  little  Ikey's 
place  ?  Well,  who's  goin'  to  be  the  ram  this  time  ?  " 

And  with  that  Relief  defiantly  marched  up  the  back 
stairs  to  her  own  room,  but  her  mother  knew  that  she 
was  desperately  in  earnest  and  fighting  to  keep  back 
the  tears. 

For  once  Cap'n  Thoph  launched  no  invectives  after 
his  wilful  daughter,  and  no  tiresome  argument  fol- 
lowed her  outburst.  Mrs.  Snow  'lowed  that  he  was 
softenin'  with  age  jest  as  her  father  done  thirty  years 
back. 

Upstairs  the  carpet  was  being  turned  back  in  one 
corner,  and  the  letter  from  Tacoma  came  out  once 
more  from  its  hiding  to  be  read  very  carefully  through, 
then  as  carefully  restored  to  its  retreat,  after  which 
Relief  still  sat  there  on  the  floor,  looking  at  the 
carpet  that  concealed  it.  Before  her  eyes  floated  the 
image  of  Conger  Howe,  now  addressing  her  in  his 
friendly,  boyish  manner,  now  working  at  his  easel  or 
playing  with  the  yellow  dog.  Finally,  she  could  only 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      217 

picture  him  as  he  stood  there  holding  Miss  Grayley 
in  his  arms,  and  offering  himself  a  sacrifice  to  make  life 
easier  for  her  and  his-  friend  Galton  Gragg.  Gradu- 
ally the  truth  about  it  all  seemed  to  dawn  upon  her, 
and  she  got  up  with  white  but  resolute  face,  put  on  her 
Sunday  dress  and  quietly  left  the  house.  The  guests 
at  the  hotel  were  just  finishing  supper  when  Relief 
Snow  appeared  on  the  piazza.,  inquiring  for  Dr.  Doon 
who  wasn't  there  and  had  no  occasion  to  be  there. 
One  excuse  was  as  good  as  another,  so  long  as  it  per- 
mitted her  to  loiter  without  attracting  suspicion. 
When  Miss  Bess  Grayley  strolled  over  casually  to  tell 
the  news,  Relief  kept  out  of  sight,  but  not  out  of  hear- 
ing. She  was  next  concerned  to  find  her  artist  and 
to  find  him  immediately. 

C.  Howe  was  in  the  billiard-room  alone,  practising 
on  the  table  which  his  munificence  had  recently 
equipped  with  new  cushions,  and  which  was  never  even 
groomed  except  when  he  brushed  it.  Relief  noticed 
there  were  only  three  balls  on  the  table,  and  that  he 
seemed  to  possess  that  peculiar  charm  by  which  certain 
men  can  with  perfect  ease  coax  the  white  ball  to  per- 
form miracles  with  the  other  two  and  an  intervening 
cushion.  She  knew  nothing  of  touch  and  co-ordina- 
tion, but  grace  and  lithe  ease  she  knew  because  they 
were  natural  to  her.  For  a  minute  therefore  she  stood 
in  the  doorway  admiring  the  relaxed  and  careless  atti- 
tude of  the  player  and  his  skill  at  the  game;  then  she 
advanced  boldly. 

"  May  I  speak  to  you?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  certainly,  Rill;  is  anything  wrong?  " 


218      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Yes,  there  is  —  but  I  don't  know  how  to  tell  you. 
Will  you  come  out  here  where  we  can  be  alone?  " 

Conger  Howe  watched  her  sharply.  He  had  never 
seen  her  like  this.  She  was  plainly  distressed,  yet  he 
hesitated  to  question  her.  They  found  seats  on  the 
piazza,  at  the  far  end  quite  isolated. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  now  tell  me  as  much  or  little  as 
you  wish.  I'll  do  anything  in  my  power  to  help  you." 

Some  one  was  talking  just  round  the  corner. 

"  Listen ! "  Relief  said,  and  laid  her  hand  on  his 
sleeve. 

"  He's  been  crazy  about  me  for  weeks  —  just  simply 
hounding  the  life  out  of  me  to  marry  him.  You  know 
what  I  mean.  My  family  have  always  thought  so 
much  about  breeding  that  I  could  hardly  bear  to  think 
about  that  side  of  it  —  but  I  propose  to  make  the  name 
Howe  worth  something  one  of  these  days.  I  don't 
propose  to  have  him  spend  his  life  dawdling  around 
trying  to  learn  to  paint  — " 

"  But,  Miss  Grayley,"  a  girl's  voice  interrupted, 
"  isn't  Mr.  Howe  earning  a  fine  living  as  agent  for  the 
great  Felix  fitron?" 

"  He  is  just  now,"  Miss  Bess  admitted,  "  but  you 
can't  tell  how  long  a  snap  like  that  will  last.  I  mean  to 
have  my  husband  in  a  regular  business  where  he  can 
make  money  and  reputation.  He  has  youth  and  health 
and  an  amiable  disposition  —  I  guess  we  can  make  an 
American  of  him." 

Like  a  little  boy  Conger  put  his  hand  in  that  of  the 
girl  sitting  beside  him.  Together  they  rose  from  the 
bench  and  hand  in  hand  walked  back  to  the  billiard- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      219 

room.  Neither  spoke,  but  in  the  light  of  the  single 
kerosene  lamp  over  the  table  Relief  saw  that  his  face 
was  very  pale,  his  lips  were  firmly  pressed  together, 
and  his  eyes  looked  at  something  very  far  away.  He 
had  released  her  hand  when  they  got  inside  the  door. 
Presently  he  picked  up  his  cue  and  began  to  play,  but 
the  white  ball  no  longer  clicked  gently  against  each 
of  the  other  two.  Somehow  the  white  ball  had  lost 
something  of  its  magic.  And  so  Relief  left  him  in 
silence,  and  the  twilight  swallowed  her  up,  blending 
her  slim  figure  with  the  pitch  pines  on  her  road  home. 
"  Never  mind,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  somebody  had 
to  show  him,  an'  I'm  glad  I  done  it." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

At  one  o'clock  the  following  day  Major  Thornton 
walked  up  and  down  the  corridor  of  his  club,  nervously 
awaiting  his  son's  arrival.  A  telephone  message  had 
advised  him  that  Conger  wished  to  see  him,  and  the 
major,  who  hadn't  so  much  as  seen  or  heard  from 
Conger  for  two  months,  was  apprehensive.  There  had 
been  sufficient  warning  of  trouble  even  in  the  tone  of 
the  voice  that  came  over  the  telephone  making  this 
appointment. 

Promptly  at  one  he  came.  He  looked  pale  and  agi- 
tated. His  father,  scenting  money  difficulties,  secretly 
welcomed  this  opportunity  to  show  his  boy  how  much 
he  loved  him.  In  the  dining-room  they  found  a  table 
overlooking  the  Common  where  waving  elm  trees, 
green  grass  and  the  great  flaring  fountain  of  the  Frog 
Pond  gave  the  hot  city  a  taste  of  real  life,  recalling  the 
days  when  Boston's  citizens  pastured  their  cows  on 
this  same  Common,  under  these  very  trees.  By  police 
indulgence  a  score  or  more  of  ragged  urchins  were 
even  bathing  in  the  pond,  and  Major  Thornton,  point- 
ing to  them,  said : 

"  Conger,  you  don't  need  to  go  to  Cape  Cod  for 
freedom.  See  what  you  can  do  in  the  heart  of 
Boston." 

"  Showing,  sir,  that  freedom  isn't  a  matter  of  place 
220 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      221 

or  time,  but  is  chiefly  a  state  of  mind.     And  that's 
what  I  wanted  to  see  you  about,  sir." 

The  major  eyed  him  attentively,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  upset  by  reason  of  the  uncertainty,  the  cloud 
involving  my  parentage.  Foundlings  are  looked  upon, 
I  find  — " 

He  stopped  short.  The  major's  face  had  gone  scar- 
let, and  from  scarlet  to  a  strange  pallor.  The  major's 
heart  was  acting  very  badly,  and  the  young  man,  fear- 
ful that  he  had  seemed  to  be  lacking  in  respect,  hastened 
to  reassure  him. 

"  I  know,  sir,  that  it  has  never  made  the  least  differ- 
ence to  you,  and  I  remember  I  was  given  to  understand 
by  the  colonel  when  you  took  me  up  in  Peking  that  I 
need  not  be  ashamed  of  my  parents.  But  sir,  your 
countrymen  are  so  full  of  superstitions  that  the  phrase 
'  What  God  hath  joined  together '  has  more  weight 
with  them  than  all  the  common  sense  and  biology 
combined.  And  the  lack  of  knowledge  about  my  birth 
is  by  many  so  great  a  prejudice  that  it  amounts  to  a 
divine  visitation,  God  being  very  angry  because  pos- 
sibly he  wasn't  invited  to  the  wedding." 

"  You  shouldn't  say  such  things,"  the  major  replied, 
feebly.  He  had  put  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and 
from  time  to  time  took  a  swallow  of  water,  then  gazed 
out  at  the  Common,  which  was  no  longer  very  green, 
and  by  no  means  suggested  freedom. 

"  I  understand,"  Conger  went  on,  "  that  in  fairness 
to  my  parents  their  identity  couldn't  be  disclosed,  so 
I'm  not  asking  such  a  thing.  But  I  can  ask  whether 
you  know,  of  your  own  knowledge,  that  they  were  of 


222      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

such  character  that  I  should  not  be  committing  a  fault 
to  marry  —  to  bring  into  the  world  grandchildren  of 
my  father  and  my  mother." 

Major  Thornton's  hand  shook  perceptibly  as  he 
raised  his  glass  to  his  lips  before  attempting  to  reply. 
His  mouth  was  very  dry,  and  the  hungry  look  in  his 
eyes  was  strangely  tragic  for  a  man  who  had  merely 
adopted  a  foundling,  hadn't  even  made  the  adoption 
a  legal  contract  for  his  wife's  sake.  But  Conger  Howe 
saw  only  the  sympathy  that  he  himself  could  feel  to- 
wards any  living  thing,  so  no  inkling  of  the  truth  came 
to  him.  At  last  the  major  said : 

"  You  need  have  no  such  scruples  or  doubts.  Your 
mother,  I  know,  my  boy,  was  a  sweet,  a  pure,  a  lovely 
girl,  and  your  father  was  —  a  gentleman.  Very 
young  they  were,  impulsive,  and  your  father  in  the 
heedlessness  of  youth  did  the  girl  a  great  wrong.  It 
was  wholly  his  fault  —  but  repentance  doesn't  bring 
back  the  dead.  Thank  God  there  is  such  a  thing  as 
forgiveness  for  sin !  " 

"  But  is  there  ?  "  Conger  answered,  then  checked 
himself,  for  the  major's  sympathy  was  causing  great 
beads  of  perspiration  to  stand  out  on  his  forehead. 
His  luncheon,  untasted,  had  grown  cold  on  his  plate. 
Could  another's  tragedy  cause  such  suffering  as  Conger 
could  see  back  of  those  eyes  that  looked  so  appealingly 
into  his?  Some  gleam  of  a  possible  truth  reached  him 
in  that  mute  appeal.  Instantly  his  whole  manner 
changed. 

"  That  is  enough  for  me  to  know,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  that  I  need  not  fear  to  have  children.  To  me  it 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      223 

would  seem  the  unpardonable  sin  to  transmit  to  one's 
children  a  taint,  physical,  mental  or  moral.  And  if 
you  know  that  my  parents  were  like  other  people,  ir- 
regularity as  to  marriage  is  nothing,  nothing  at  all,  a 
mere  convention  often  binding  together  those  who 
would  be  far  better  and  happier  apart." 

The  major  was  looking  out  of  the  window  again, 
across  the  Common  and  the  Public  Garden  and  the 
Back  Bay  where  Boston's  conventions  and  creeds  and 
prejudices  are  held  in  highest  honor. 

"  Conger,"  he  said,  "  you  may  not  call  yourself  a 
Christian,  but  you  hold  and  practise  the  very  best  that 
our  religion  teaches." 

"  And  those  things,"  Conger  replied,  "  are  the  eter- 
nal truths  that  your  religion  holds  in  common  with 
many  others.  I  ought  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I  have  been 
guilty  of  a  great  indiscretion:  I  'have  engaged  myself 
to  Miss  Grayley." 

"An  indiscretion?"  the  major  repeated.  "I  don't 
follow  you.  She  is  a  lovely  girl,  and  you  are  earning 
money  enough  to  support  her  handsomely.  Where  is 
the  indiscretion?  " 

"  It  seems,  sir,  that  I  have  run  my  neck  into  a  fem- 
inist noose.  I  am  to  be  her  husband;  not  she  my  wife. 
I  have  overheard  her  expounding  how  she  hopes  to 
make  something  out  of  me  yet  —  a  stock  broker,  or  a 
railroad  magnate,  I  judge,  is  her  ambition.  I  had 
gathered  that  here  marriage  was  a  partnership.  Be- 
hold, it  is  but  a  reversal  of  our  Chinese  custom :  here 
man  becomes  the  chattel.  I  am  in  the  slang  vernacular, 
facing  it." 


224      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Major  Thornton  was  forced  to  smile  at  Conger's 
idea  of  slang,  but  his  idea  of  marriage  was  another 
and  a  closer  problem.  The  major  well  knew  how  it 
worked  in  his  own  home.  "If  you've  discovered  that 
sort  of  thing  already,  why  don't  you  back  out?  It's 
a  good  deal  better  than  going  on  with  it.  Marriage, 
to  be  a  success,  requires  first  of  all  an  enthusiastic  start. 
Love,  my  boy,  is  one  of  the  most  complicated  ailments 
flesh  is  heir  to.  You  can't  let  nature  have  her  way 
with  it  or  nature  will  work  a  cure,  and  that  is  just 
what  you  don't  want.  By  repeated  inoculations  you 
can  keep  the  germ  alive  in  the  system,  and  those  inocu- 
lations are  the  successful  efforts  to  attract  and  win 
one's  mate." 

"  Conscious  efforts  ?  "  Conger  asked. 

"  Certainly,  conscious  efforts,  as  were  the  girl's  de- 
sire to  look  attractive,  to  be  sweet  and  womanly;  and 
his  to  be  strong  and  brave  and  just  and  honest  in  her 
eyes  —  when  they  first  met." 

"  That  is  not  a  universal  practice  even  in  America," 
the  young  man  commented,  and  his  father,  with  a  wise 
shake  of  the  head,  admitted: 

"  Most  of  us  discover  it  too  late.  Like  so  many 
of  our  proved  theories,  it  is  seldom  really  given  a  fair 
trial;  but,  if  you  have  found  Miss  Grayley  what  you 
say,  don't  let  any  mistaken  notions  of  gallantry  mis- 
lead you  into  marrying  her,  or  you'll  be  wretchedly 
unhappy  —  both  of  you.  How  long  a  trial  have  you 
given  it  —  the  engagement  ?  " 

"  About  fifteen  minutes,  sir." 

"  Fifteen  minutes !  " 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      225 

"  Yes,  sir,  at  the  end  of  that  time  she  disclosed  her 
real  self  for  the  first  time,  and  her  attitude  towards 
marriage.  Since  then  I  have  heard  her  amplify  the 
topic,  though  she  didn't  know  I  was  hearing  —  and  all 
of  this  was  yesterday  afternoon,  so  you  see  I  have  had 
but  a  short  and  sharp  engagement." 

"  Are  you  quite  sure,  Conger,  that  you  are  not  misled 
by  appearances?  " 

"  Quite  sure,  sir." 

"  Then  you  should  lose  no  time  in  undoing  your 
mistake  before  news  of  it  has  travelled." 

"  It  is  so  complicated  a  problem,"  the  young  man 
answered  enigmatically,  and  the  other,  who  knew  how 
tangled  matrimony  might  be,  did  not  question  him. 
So  many  paths  may  lead  to  marriage,  so  many  reasons 
good  and  bad.  His  present  anxiety  was  that  his  son 
might  be  spared  the  sorrow  of  an  unhappy  union.  His 
ideas  of  duty  were  so  chivalrous  that  it  would  be  alto- 
gether like  him  to  decide  that  having  proposed  marriage 
he  must  stick  to  it,  however  bad  the  bargain. 

That  evening  Conger  called  on  Bess,  and  found  her 
in  a  state  of  mind  bordering  on  temper. 

"  Where  on  earth  have  you  been?  "  was  her  greeting. 
"  You  offer  yourself ;  I  accept.  We  walk  home  —  and 
you  disappear,  drop  out  of  sight.  When  a  girl  an- 
nounces her  engagement  she  wants  at  least  to  have  the 
man  to  show  them.  What  became  of  you?  If  you 
felt  embarrassed  why  couldn't  you  at  least  — " 

"  Bess,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  space  she  had  dex- 
trously  left  beside  her  on  the  sofa,  and  standing  be- 
fore her,  "  I  have  made  a  monstrous  mistake.  I 


226      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

ask   your   pardon.     The    fault    is    wholly    mine  —  I 
should  never  have  spoken  to  you  of  marriage  —  I  — " 

It  was  her  turn  now  to  interrupt.  Her  face  had  be- 
come so  pale  that  even  her  lips  were  white.  He  had 
never  before  noticed  how  thin  her  lips  were  or  how 
straight  was  the  line  of  her  mouth.  It  even  flashed 
through  his  mind  that  he  had  never  before  seen  her 
mouth  closed.  She  was  standing,  facing  him,  and  her 
hands  were  tight  clenched.  She  was  not  even  pretty 
in  this  mood. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  she  panted.  "  Do  you  think  you 
can  treat  me  like  —  like  one  of  your  own  kind  ?  You ! 
You  of  all  men!  The  dishonored,  disowned  son  of 
some  Chinese  —  woman  of  the  streets!"  He  heard 
her  thus  far,  and  suddenly  memory  brought  before  his 
eyes  the  Rat's  garden  in  Peking,  the  stone  wall  en- 
closing it,  the  precious  egg  that  he  was  saving  for 
Ya-tzu,  the  fierce  fight  that  followed,  and  its  lesson  in 
self-control.  He  no  longer  heard  the  torrent  of  de- 
nunciation and  abuse,  but  when  she  paused  for  breath, 
she  met  in  his  eyes  a  scorn  and  a  reproach  that  fright- 
ened her  into  silence. 

"  If  I  had  been  in  doubt  before,"  he  said  steadily, 
"  this  outburst  would  have  convinced  me." 

And  with  that  he  left  her  standing  there  very  white 
and  very  angry  and  not  a  little  troubled,  for  she  was 
far  too  bright  a  woman  to  mistake  this  for  a  lovers' 
quarrel.  In  denouncing  him,,  as  she  had,  there  re- 
mained no  possibility  of  explanation  and  reconcilia- 
tion. "What  a  fool  I  was!  "  she  reproached  herself, 
in  this  first  panic  after  he  had  gone.  "  How  am  I 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      227 

ever  to  face  the  crowd?  They  all  know  of  it  by  this 
time.  Oh,  why  was  I  in  such  a  hurry  to  brag  of  it! 
There  must  be  a  way  out.  I  must  have  a  hold  on  him." 
By  this  time  she  was  seated  again,  tapping  the  floor 
with  a  trim  but  impatient  foot,  and  looking  about  her 
as  though  expecting  to  find  a  way  of  escape  marked 
"  exit."  Suddenly  she  found  it ;  the  color  came  back 
to  her  cheeks  with  a  rush.  "  I'll  show  him  yet  whether 
he  can  play  fast  and  loose  with  me,"  she  whispered. 
"  I'll  punish  him,  but  I  wouldn't  marry  him  if  he  came 
to  me  on  his  knees !  A  nice  income  he'll  have  to  offer 
the  next  girl !  " 

And  while  she  was  storming,  blaming  her  own  indis- 
cretion, and  planning  a  fearful  revenge  upon  him, 
Conger  Howe  was  on  his  way  along  the  shadowy  path 
to  the  shore,  lighted  only  by  a  fitful  moon  but  followed 
close  by  his  devoted  dog. 

The  night  air  was  soft  and  balmy;  the  tide  was  out, 
and  in  the  shallow  pools  out  on  the  flats  the  moonlight 
shone  like  silver.  So  calm  and  restful  was  the  scene 
that  Conger  sitting  on  the  old  bench  in  front  of  My- 
rick's  could  forget  the  smart  of  his  recent  hurt,  could 
ignore  the  memory  of  his  last  interview  here.  But 
as  usual  since  early  childhood  he  was  glad  of  solitude 
to  review  his  own  past,  to  satisfy  himself  whether  his 
conduct  had  been  up  to  his  own  standards.  Shame 
seemed  always  to  travel  close  behind  him.  He  remem- 
bered his  shame  when,  as  a  little  boy,  people  called  at- 
tention to  his  color,  and  even  accused  him  of  being 
white.  How  strange  .all  -that  seemed  now!  How 
easily  his  point  of  view  had  later  shifted  until  he  felt 


228      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

it  a  disgrace  to  be  half  Chinese,  and  how  happy  when 
he  was  assured  that  his  parents  were  both  white !  And 
now  Major  Thornton  had  farther  removed  shame  from 
his  consciousness  by  his  assurance  that  father  and 
mother  were  perfectly  respectable,  decent  people;  in 
fact,  it  would  seem  from  what  the  major  said  that  they 
were  something  better  than  that.  Step  by  step  he 
looked  himself  over  and  brought  himself  down  to  this 
ill-advised,  precipitate  engagement  and  disengagement. 
He  wondered  whether  he  could  call  it  that,  whether  he 
had  extricated  himself  or  was  enmeshed  deeper  than 
ever.  With  a  shudder  he  reviewed  his  somersault 
from  the  Oriental  attitude  towards  woman  to  the  hen- 
pecked American,  and  how  near  it  had  come  to  wreck- 
ing him. 

"  All  my  ideas  seem  to  need  constant  revision  and 
correction,"  he  mused.  "  So  recently  I  believed  the 
object  of  my  life  was  power.  I  know  now  that  it  is 
not  —  but  I  am  not  sure  what  it  is." 

The  moon,  which  had  been  playing  hide  and  seek, 
came  out  frankly,  shamelessly,  to  be  admired.  She 
was  behind  him,  but  she  revealed  a  figure  coming  along 
the  beach,  swinging  with  the  long,  graceful  stride  of 
youth,  health  and  the  habit  of  locomotion.  At  first  he 
couldn't  make  out  whether  it  was  man  or  woman; 
then,  as  it  drew  nearer,  a  white  skirt  was  visible  and  a 
very  feminine  hat  worn  with  feminine  courage  at  a 
daring  angle.  She  paused  when  she  came  to  the  bluff, 
then,  turning,  mounted  the  path  to  Myrick's.  Not 
long  ago  in  a  storm  he  had  waited  on  this  very  spot 
for  a  woman  to  come  to  him  up  that  path.  Could  this 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      229 

by  any  chance  be  the  same  woman  ?  He  assured  him- 
self  that  she  could  not  have  distanced  him;  he  had  left 
her  in  her  home  and  had  come  straight  down  here. 
No,  it  couldn't  be  she.  Meantime  some  woman,  young 
and  vigorous,  was  mounting  the  steep  path. 

"  She  must  be  an  intrepid  lady,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  out  alone  at  this  time  in  the  evening.  Not  that  there 
is  the  slightest  danger  down  here,  but  women  don't 
like  the  dark." 

He  sat  still,  but  the  yellow  dog's  tail  was  vigorously 
heralding  the  arrival  of  a  friend.  How  much  their 
noses  tell  them  that  is  denied  to  us! 

Her  head  appeared.  She  saw  him  and  gave  a  little 
cry  of  surprise;  then  the  dog  went  forward  to  reassure 
her,  and  Conger,  not  to  be  outdone,  spoke. 

"  It  is  very  lovely  and  peaceful  here,  to-night." 

"Why,  Conger,"  she  cried,  "is  it  you?" 

He  wasn't  quite  sure  whether  she  had  ever  called 
him  Conger  before;  possibly  he  wouldn't  have  noticed 
whether  she  did  or  not.  Now,  even  the  tone  of  her 
voice  was  a  delight.  She  was  no  longer  the  careless 
Barbara.  Something  had  still  further  changed  her, 
something  intangible,  that  made  her  his  friend. 

"  Will  you  sit  down  ?  "  he  asked,  rising  to  make  room 
for  her.  He  didn't  ask  why  she  was  roaming  the 
shore  alone,  and  his  delicacy  in  betraying  no  curiosity 
was  gratefully  appreciated. 

Sitting  there  beside  him  on  the  bench,  and  swinging 
her  feet  like  a  child,  her  artless  sincerity  drew  him  out, 
instantly  breaking  down  his  usual  reserve  so  completely 
that  he  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  talk  about  himself. 


230      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  suppose,"  she  began,  "  I'm  in  a  silly  mood  to 
come  down  here  alone  this  way.  It  wasn't  sentiment, 
you  know ;  it  was  restlessness,  and  — " 

"  Curious,  you  should  have  said  that,"  he  replied,  in 
his  simple  direct  way,  "  because  I  have  just  broken  with 
Bess  after  a  thirty  hours'  engagement.  Almost  estab- 
lishes a  record,  does  it  not  ?  " 

"What?  Broken  it?  Why,  pray?  Oh,  it's  only  a 
misunderstanding,  and  — " 

"  No,  the  misunderstanding  came  before  the  engage- 
ment. Now  we  understand  each  other  thoroughly." 

"  Marriage  is  a  great  mistake  anyway,"  Barbara 
said.  "  Just  how  the  race  could  go  on  without  it  I 
don't  know.  Nine  women  out  of  every  ten  marry 
simply  because  they  want  children,  the  tenth  because 
she  wants  a  home.  Are  you  shocked  ?  " 

"Shocked?-    No!" 

"  Galton,  of  course,"  she  went  on,  "  is  the  nicest,  the 
least  objectionable  of  the  sex,  but  the  whole  scheme  of 
double  harness  is  hideous!  Why,  if  I  were  married  I 
couldn't  do  this.  The  rotten  world  would  wag  its 
head  and  ask  :  '  Whom  is  she  going  to  meet  ?  ' 

"  Would  it?  "  he  asked,  sincerely  interested. 

"  Yes,  it  would,  and  what  is  more,  my  husband,  who, 
when  not  at  his  office,  would  be  under  my  feet  every 
minute,  would  be  furious;  either  he  would  be  jealous 
or  shocked  at  my  doing  what  his  mother  never  did." 

"  But  you  cannot  generalize  about  husbands,"  he 
protested ;  "  not  all  men  are  cut  out  from  the  pattern 
you  describe." 

"  Come  now,"  she  insisted,  "  do  you  know  what  is 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      231 

going  to  happen  between  you  and  Bess?  She  will 
take  all  the  blame  and  you  will  let  her.  Doubtless  you 
were  domineering,  also  jealous,  but  you  will  justify 
yourself.  It  was  all  for  her  sake.  It  was  to  save  the 
woman  from  entangling  alliances  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  I  cannot  see  your  face,"  he  answered  calmly,  "  but 
I  do  not  need  to.  It  always  seems  to  me  the  twinkle  in 
your  eye  betrays  you ;  that  you  are  only  masquerading 
—  as  you  are  now." 

"  I  wonder  if  I  am,"  she  said,  "  or  just  being  dis- 
agreeable to  irritate  you  into  an  outburst  " ;  then,  after 
a  minute's  silence,  "  I'm  'sorry.  It  isn't  any  fun  being 
hateful  to  you.  Galton  would  come  at  me,  hammer 
and  tongs,  and  then  we  should  have  had  a  quarrel.  It 
was  your  fault  with  Bess,  wasn't  it?  Were  you 
flirting?" 

"  Flirting  requires  a  greater  degree  of  skill  than  I 
possess,"  he  said.  "  Besides,  I  fancy  it  is  too  subtle 
for  me;  I  do  not  apprehend  its  object.  Always  I 
either  do  or  I  do  not.  The  flirting  seems  to  be  some- 
thing that  is  half  of  each,  and  I  fail  to  grasp  it." 

"  Why,  you  flirted  with  me,  desperately,  the  night  of 
the  clambake." 

She  could  not  see  the  quick  rush  of  color  to  his  face ; 
she  could  only  hear  the  troubled  protest :  "  No !  You 
mistake  —  I  never  forget  that  you  are  Gallon's,  and 
that  he  is  my  best  friend." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it?  "  she  asked,  so  sud- 
denly that  he  was  startled.  "  Couldn't  you  flirt  with 
the  wife  of  your  best  friend,  or  his  promised  wife? 


232      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

If  I  ever  am  Gallon's  wife  I  shall  flirt  with  every  at- 
tractive man  I  meet.  That's  the  only  fun  a  married 
woman  can  have,  and  it's  little  enough  to  pay  her  for 
wearing  the  shackles.  If  you  want  an  aphorism  for 
marriage  it  is :  Shackles  for  shekels.  That's  the  real 
exchange." 

"  I  have  never  before  seen  you  in  this  mood,"  Con- 
ger said  almost  reproachfully.  "  In  any  one  less 
merry  and  kind  it  would  seem  like  cynicism;  in  you  I 
feel  sure  it  is  some  momentary  irritation,  or  else  having 
your  fun." 

"You  disapprove,  yet  you  defend  me.  Why?" 
she  asked,  turning  to  look  at  him.  The  moonlight 
showed  him  a  very  lovely  face,  unmistakably  on  the 
verge  of  tears.  Something,  then,  was  wrong  with 
her,  also,  and  she  too  had  come  alone  to  the  shore  to 
let  the  fresh  sea  air  blow  through  it.  He  could  sympa- 
thize with  that  point  of  view,  but  her  anxieties  must 
be  trivial.  Perhaps  publishers  continued  to  be  heart- 
less and  blind. 

"  I  am  very  fond  —  that  is,  I  think  very  highly  of 
you.  And  still  more  I  value  your  friendship  because 
you  are  Gallon's,"  he  said,  and  she  flung  back : 

"  Gallon's.     There  you  go !     Ownership !  " 

"  No,  no,  not  ownership,"  he  insisted.  "  His  by 
attachment,  just  as  he  is  yours." 

"  Well,  attachment  isn't  enough  to  marry  on."  Her 
manner  had  changed.  She  was  no  longer  flippant; 
her  voice  shook  with  the  attempt  to  control  her  emotion. 

"  Conger,  I'm  worried  to  death  over  it.  Galton  is 
getting  impatient,  and  I  cannot  marry  him.  It  isn't 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      233 

in  me  to  love  any  man.  I  hate  to  tell  him,  after  keep- 
ing him  waiting  for  years,  but  I  am  convinced  I'm  in- 
capable of -love,  and  without  it  marriage  would  be 
frightful.  Why  I  tell  you  I  don't  know  —  unless  it's 
because  you  are  his  best  friend." 

They  sat  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  thinking  it  over. 
Then  Conger  said,  "  We  had  better  be  going."  His 
voice  sounded  strange;  his  thoughts  had  been  hard  to 
keep  strictly  loyal  to  his  friend.  Just  as  that  night  of 
the  clambake  he  knew  that  he  loved  her,  and  not  to 
admit  it  even  to  himself  was  a  struggle.  He  had 
caught  at  Bess  Grayley,  imagining  that  love  was  trans- 
ferable. He  had  learned  his  mistake  already. 

In  the  shade  of  the  trees  it  was  hard  to  keep  to  the 
path.  It  was  all  very  familiar  to  him,  and  he  could 
find  it  in  the  dark.  Several  times  he  had  to  take  her 
by  the  hand,  and  lead  her,  and  every  time  the  touch  of 
her  hand  in  his  deprived  him  of  the  power  of  thought 
or  speech  save  the  guilty  consciousness  that  even  this 
was  heavenly  and  incomparable  bliss.  He  longed  to 
tell  her  very  simply  and  frankly  that,  in  spite  of  Gal- 
ton,  in  spite  of  her  reiterated  assertion  as  to  her  own 
indifference  and  coldness,  he  loved  her.  It  would  clear 
the  air;  it  would  be  better  and  safer  for  her  to  know 
it.  She,  too,  was  very  quiet.  What  were  her 
thoughts,  he  wondered.  Were  any  bestowed  on  him? 

They  came  out  into  the  open  fields  where  they  could 
see  the  pond  signalling  back  to  the  stars  and  the  clouds 
above  it,  repeating  to  each  its  own  message  faithfully 
reproduced.  He  wondered  if  she  would  say  that  the 
pond  was  an  ideal  wife.  Instead: 


234      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  heard  to-day  from  that  painter  man  in  New 
York,  Monsieur  Beauchamp.  He  is  a  frothy  person, 
vain  and  artificial,  but  very  amusing  and  besides  he  is  a 
very  dear  friend  of  my  beloved  old  Felix  fitron." 

"  Old  —  yes  —  but  why  beloved  ?  "  he  asked. 

"Can't  you  see  it  in  his  pictures?"  she  retorted. 
"  The  understanding,  the  sympathy  with  all  that  lives, 
the  insight  and  the  mystery  of  it  all?  I  believe  if  he 
wasn't  eighty  I  could  marry  him  —  if  he  would  have 
me." 

"  He  could  be  a  grandpa  to  you,  and  let  you  play  in 
his  studio  —  when  you  were  very  good." 

"  Which  only  shows,"  she  declared,  "  that  you  do  not 
understand  —  me  —  or  the  wonderful  artist  who  has 
made  you." 

They  parted  at  her  gate,  both  very  quiet,  occupied 
with  their  own  thoughts,  and  his  presently  took  him 
back  again  to  My  rick's  and  the  solitude  of  the  shore. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

M.  Beauchamp  was  becoming  prominent  in  the 
world  of  art.  His  pictures  were  attracting  more 
favorable  notice,  and  the  critic  who  had  likened  his 
impressionist  view  of  "  Bald  Mountain  at  Sunset "  to 
a  Dutch  cheese  rampant  now  began  to  see  real  value  in 
M.  Beauchamp' s  performance.  Twice  had  he  ap- 
peared in  headlines  in  the  New  York  papers,  the  im- 
mediate cause  being  a  letter  from  no  less  a  celebrity 
than  Felix  fitron.  In  the  interview  accorded  the  lead- 
ing dailies  M.  Beauchamp  had  generously  gone  some- 
what into  details  concerning  the  great  painter,  his  life, 
his  personality  and  his  ideas.  "  I  used  to  think,"  M. 
Beauchamp  told  the  reporters,  "  that  a  man  was  old  at 
seventy;  that  if  at  sixty  he  hadn't  arrived  his  case  was 
hopeless.  Now  my  friend  Felix  fitron  comes  to  show 
me  that  your  great  genius  may  be  beyond  eighty  be- 
fore he  finds  himself.  Don't  you  see  how  much  of 
value  this  adds  to  life,  this  prolongation  of  its  useful- 
ness, this  uncertain,  indeterminate  period  of  its  climax! 
When  may  a  man  safely  give  up  the  struggle,  saying 
to  himself,  '  My  day  has  come  and  gone,  and  behold 
the  night  cometh  '  ?  Surely  not  until  his  eyes  are  clos- 
ing in  death;  not  until  his  arms  hang  listless  at  his 
sides,  and  his  brain  no  longer  conjures  up  for  him 
those  images  which  are  the  basis  of  all  thought,  the 

235 


236      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

accompaniment  of  all  our  conscious  hours,  and  the 
fabric  of  our  dreams." 

Much  of  this  was  copied  verbatim  from  the  letter  of 
Felix  fitron,  in  which  occurred  also  this  passage : 

"  In  answer  to  your  question  I  could  no  more  give  a 
rule  for  painting  pictures  than  for  preventing  baldness. 
To  some  it  seems  to  come  naturally,  but  I  am  convinced 
that  only  they  who  feel  life  keenly,  deeply,  can  portray 
it  vividly.  Those  who  see  only  the  surface  give  you 
just  that  on  their  canvases.  Small  wonder  if  they 
fail  to  satisfy  and  are  soon  forgotten.  It  is  the  deeper 
something  that  speaks  to  us  in  nature.  If  we  can  put 
some  of  that  into  our  pictures  they  will  live." 

M.  Beauchamp  had  been  good  enough  to  enclose  a 
clipping  of  his  interview  in  a  letter  to  Barbara  Wray- 
ton.  In  that  he  further  amplified  his  topic,  explaining 
that  he  had  addressed  a  letter  to  M.  Felix  fitron  at 
Paris  six  weeks  ago  in  the  hope  of  drawing  his  friend 
into  a  discussion  of  his  own  career.  The  reply,  which 
had  only  just  arrived,  quite  ignored  the  most  salient 
of  his  questions,  as  M.  Beauchamp  expressed  it: 
"  with  a  characteristic  modesty  which  forbids  the  dear 
old  master  to  talk  of  himself  even  to  me."  M.  Beau- 
champ  always  allowed  one  to  infer  that  he  was  a  pupil 
as  well  as  an  intimate  of  the  great  painter,  but  nothing 
in  his  pictures  bore  any  testimony  to  that  effect.  The 
bizarre,  the  self-conscious  straining  for  appearances, 
which  characterized  his  work,  were  at  the  opposite  pole 
from  the  sincere  straight- for  ward  methods  of  Felix 
£>tron. 

Barbara  had  the  letter  in  her  pocket  when  she  met 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      237 

Conger  at  the  post  office  shortly  after  their  chance 
meeting  at  Myrick's,  and  she  read  him  that  portion 
which  dealt  with  his  patron,  considerately  omitting  the 
passage  which  declared :  "  You  are  at  liberty  to  show 
my  interview  with  the  reporters  to  your  friend  Mr.  C. 
Howe,  but  you  needn't  tell  him  that  I  suggested  to 
fitron  that  I  could  do  a  great  deal  better  by  him  if  he 
would  transfer  to  me  the  sale  of  his  pictures  on  this 
side  the  Atlantic.  I  expect  very  soon  to  receive  his  ac- 
ceptance of  my  proposition." 

This  rather  troubled  Barbara.  She  liked  Conger, 
and  she  knew  that  without  the  commissions  on  his  sales 
his  income  would  shrink  from  its  princely  level  to  ex- 
tremely humble  proportions,  so  she  asked,  by  way  of 
stimulating  him,  "  Do  you  think  you  are  devoting  as 
much  energy  as  you  ought  to  the  business  of  your 
agency  ?  " 

"  Just  how  ?  "  he  asked,  and  she  tried  to  explain : 

"  I  mean,  do  you  try  hard  enough  to  get  the  best 
results  for  your  patron  —  so  that  no  one  could  step 
in  and  take  the  business  away  from  you?  Do  you, 
perhaps,  give  too  much  of  your  time  to  your  own  work 
which  is,  after  all,  just  an  avocation,  isn't  it?  " 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  he  said;  "  about  such  things  one  never 
knows." 

And  Barbara  felt  that  she  had  made  a  failure  of  her 
attempt  to  warn  him,  yet  feared  it  would  not  be  fair 
to  tell  him  why  she  had  spoken.  He  read  her  clipping 
from  the  New  York  Sun  and  returned  it  to  her  with 
no  other  comment  than  a  Chinese  "  Ho !  "  which  might 
be  anything,  she  thought,  from  surprise  to  indifference, 


238      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

—  save  for  the  contraction  of  those  two  lines  between 
his  eyes,  an  interrogation  —  no,  rather  an  admission 
of  doubt. 

"  Why  shouldn't  you  have  been  the  one  to  furnish 
this  interview,"  she  went  on,  "  perhaps  I  should  say  to 
grant  it,  instead  of  Monsieur  Beauchamp?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  he  said,  which,  after  all,  was  no  more 
satisfactory  and  definite  than  his  scowl.  But  he  did 
show  his  interest  in  her  by  continuing  the  conversation 
long  after  he  might  easily  have  escaped,  and  neither 
the  attraction  of  Myrick's  nor  his  allegiance  to  the  gar- 
den was  sufficient  for  the  next  two  hours  to  drag  him 
from  the  Wraytons'  piazza,  where  Barbara  held  him  by 
a  magic  spell  that,  if  half  indifference,  was  at  least  half 
the  instinctive  impulse  to  attract  the  male. 

Galton  was  back  in  the  city  hard  at  work  to  put  him- 
self into  a  position  where  he  might  support  a  wife  in 
such  style  of  living  as  would  not  call  for  excuses 
to  friends  and  apologies  to  her.  Despite  his  loyalty 
to  Conger,  it  did  annoy  him  a  little  to  see  his  friend  in 
possession  of  a  large  income  derived  from  the  hap- 
hazard marketing  of  another's  genius  and  labor,  but 
the  annoyance  had  nothing  in  it  of  jealousy  at  Conger's 
good  fortune. 

Barbara  had  been  speaking  of  Galton  and  suddenly 
exclaimed :  "  Oh,  how  I  wish  I  were  a  man !  It's 
the  crudest  vagary  Providence  is  guilty  of  to  make 
so  many  of  us  humans  women.  Cripples  and  blind 
are  accidents;  but  females  are  the  deliberate  insult  of 
nature.  Born  to  a  position  of  inferiority 'it  is  only  by 
a  ridiculous  assertion  of  power  they  do  not  possess  that 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      239 

they  have  come  to  the  enjoyment  at  last  of  equal  rights. 
But  of  what  use  are  equal  rights  without  equal  powers? 
Equal?  We  are  inferior,  and  we  know  it." 

Conger  was  listening  —  a  stolen  side  glance  assured 
her  of  that  —  but  this  extravagant  vein  distressed  him, 
and  he  had  no  wish  to  pursue  a  subject  on  which  he 
had  more  than  once  expressed  his  present  convictions 
and  explained  his  gradual  change  of  sentiment. 

"  You're  laughing  at  me,"  she  continued,  "  but  -it's  a 
real  tragedy.  Don't  you  see  where  it  lands  me?  I 
find  I  simply  cannot  marry.  I  never  was  made  to  be 
any  man's  wife.  And  what  then?  Why,  I  haven't 
the  ability  to  be  an  independent  woman  —  I  have  no 
talents." 

"Wait!"  he  insisted.  "You  have  gifts  —  to  say 
nothing  of  physical  charms,  you  play  and  sing  very 
well,  you  have  a  good  education,  decided  facility  in  the 
use  of  French,  and  a  fascination  in  manner  which  few 
possess." 

"I  might  be  a  cloak  model,  but  go  on!"  she 
prompted  when  he  paused  here,  and  he,  taking  her  liter- 
ally, did  as  she  bade  him. 

"  I  have  analyzed  that  fascination ;  it  is  uncon- 
sciously exerted;  it  is  but  the  light  within  shining 
through.  One  cannot  be  like  that  and  at  the  same 
time  cold  or  cynical  or  out  of  tune  with  life.  As  you 
are  gifted  physically  and  mentally,  so  temperamentally 
are  you  one  of  the  few  whom  nature  has  selected  as 
storehouses  for  her  sunshine.  Don't  look  for  your 
work  and  place  in  the  world,  my  dear  Barbara ;  just  be 
content  to  live  wherever  you  are,  and  you  will  make 


240      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

each  day  the  brighter  for  some  one  because  you  have 
lived  it  too." 

He  spoke  in  his  quiet  direct  way.  Plainly  he  had 
no  intention  to  compliment,  and  yet  what  he  said  filled 
her  so  with  wonder,  gave  her  such  a  new  purpose  in 
living,  so  entirely  new  an  estimate  of  herself,  that  she 
could  not  answer  him.  Was  it,  as  he  had  said,  enough 
for  her  to  keep  on  being  the  light-hearted  Barbara 
Wrayton  with  her  rippling  laugh  and  her  universal 
sympathy?  She  wondered  if  this  serious  man  could 
be  right.  And  when  she  thought  of  his  unaffected 
praise  spoken  frankly  as  a  child  might  tell  his  thought, 
something  within  her  breast  fluttered  so  that  she  caught 
her  breath  and  shut  her  eyes  tight  to  keep  back  the 
tears  that  wanted  to  overflow  in  gratitude.  "  Perhaps 
I  am  that  sort  of  a  girl,"  she  thought.  "  Oh,  I  will 
try  very  hard  to  be  like  that !  " 

To  him  when  she  could  speak  she  said : 

"  I  wonder  if  it's  possible  for  us  to  be  friends.  The 
world  seems  to  have  made  up  its  mind  that  a  young 
man  and  a  young  woman  " —  she  left  the  sentence  un- 
finished and  he,  understanding  why,  and  grateful  to 
her  for  the  restraint,  only  nodded  and  said : 

"  I  am  thankful  the  world  had  outgrown  those  con- 
temptible notions  before  our  day.  Certainly  we  can 
be  friends  if  you  are  willing,  and  I  will  not  spoil  it  by 
trying  to  make  love  to  you." 

"  But  you  will  want  to  —  will  there  be  no  tempta- 
tion ?  Are  you  so  sure  —  at  the  very  start  ?  " 

"  Friendship,"  he  answered,  smiling  at  her  evident 
love  of  admiration,  "  means  to  one  one  thing,  to  an- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      241 

other  another.  To  me  it  brings  back  the  memory  of 
the  one  little  friend  of  my  childhood  —  I  called  him 
Brother,  and  I  suffer  to  this  day  when  I  think  of  his 
hard,  unhappy  life." 

"  I  don't  know  what  it  means  to  me,"  she  said,  "  the 
affection  I  feel  for  my  father  and  mother  and  brother ; 
a  diluted  form  of  the  same  bestowed  on  certain  girl 
friends  —  and  Galton." 

"  Well,  then,"  he  concluded,  "  you  might  water  that 
out  until  quite  sure  that  it  is  weak  enough  to  be  harm- 
less. We  could  still  call  it  friendship,  an  extra  dash 
of  cold  water  would  always  keep  it  from  becoming 
warm."  It  would  never  do  to  let  her  suspect  that  he 
already  loved  her,  or  she  would  no  longer  wish  to  be 
friends.  He  must  begin  now  the  study  of  diplomacy, 
for  surely  friendship  would  be  far  better  than  outer 
darkness.  Like  other  men  he  had  taken  it  for  granted 
that  he  could  pick  out  the  cold  women ;  he  had  assumed 
a  coexistence  of  frigidity  with  acidity.  Mrs.  Thorn- 
ton, the  dear  major's  wife,  was  his  first  example.  She 
had  no  sex,  and  thanked  God  daily  that  she  was  just 
as  she  was.  People  who  had  sex  and  admitted  it  she 
looked  upon  as  vulgar,  inferior,  even  immoral.  She 
wore  imaginary  moral  pantalettes  to  prevent  a  prurient 
world  from  revelling  in  the  wanton  enjoyment  of  her 
charms,  and  Conger  well  remembered  that  the  first 
time  he  had  ever  noticed  a  low-neck  gown  was  at  a  din- 
ner at  the  major's  during  his  freshman  year.  Mrs. 
Thornton,  conceding  to  fashion  just  enough  of  a 
square  aperture  to  show  a  prominent  collar-bone  and  a 
few  inches  of  bluish  skin  south  of  it,  kept  looking  down 


242      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

to  view  herself,  whether  from  pride  or  alarm,  he  didn't 
know;  but  each  time  she  would  hitch  the  squareneck  a 
wee  bit  higher,  and  the  boy  wondered  whether  this  was 
out  of  consideration  for  her  guests  or  because  she  felt 
a  draft.  And  he  was  called  upon  to  readjust  his  ideas, 
to  classify  so  human,  so  vitally  alive  a  woman  as  Bar- 
bara with  those  like  Mrs.  Thornton  who  advertised  it 
and  gloried  in  their  deficiency. 

So  you  couldn't  judge  of  people  by  their  faces,  their 
animation,  the  flash  of  their  eyes,  the  quick  response 
of  their  sympathies.  All  these  meant  nothing,  and 
that  little  undercurrent  of  a  language  not  spoken,  trans- 
mitted in  a  twinkle  of  the  eye,  the  slightest  pressure  of 
the  hand  or,  subtler  still,  by  silence  when  silence  could 
be  more  eloquent  than  words.  All  these  had  been  but 
the  illusions  of  his  own  disordered  imagination.  Why, 
it  actually  meant,  when  you  followed  it  to  its  lair,  this 
horrid  discovery,  that  life  wasn't  half  so  thrilling  and 
full  of  little  wonderful  experiences  to  hug  up  to  your- 
self and  never  tell  of,  as  he  had  believed  it.  How  dis- 
appointing! How  it  did  take  all  the  spice  and  spirits 
out  of  life  and  substitute  in  their  place  —  rainwater! 
To  go  a  step  further,  then,  the  man  with  a  narrow  head 
and  the  .muzzle  of  a  rodent  with  his  little  ratty  eyes 
was  very  likely  a  philanthropist,  philosopher  and  noble 
friend.  Why  not,  if  appearances  meant  nothing  at 
all?  No  wonder  there  were  unhappy  marriages,  and 
it  was  probably  a  mercy  to  Galton  that  she  had  decided 
not  to  marry,  not  to  add  another  to  the  fearful  list  of 
failures. 

This  soliloquy  was  interrupted  by  Barbara  asking, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      243 

"  Well,  are  you  going  to  accept  my  high-potency  friend- 
ship, cold  water  and  all?  " 

"  I  had  thought  we  were  friends  already,"  he  said. 

"  Not  real  friends.  Real  friends  trust  each  other  — 
even  with  their  thoughts.  That  is  what  preserves  their 
friendship." 

"  Oh,  I  had  thought  your  idea  was  to  preserve  it  as 
one  keeps  fish  —  by  freezing." 

He  looked  up  and  caught  her  eye,  and  something 
that  rippled  there  answered  him,  but  it  laughed  at  the 
cold  storage  theory.  She  must  have  truant  eyes ;  they 
looked  honest  —  it  was  a  delight  to  look  into  them  — 
but  they  were  running  away  from  her  theories  about 
herself. 

"  Shall  I,  then,"  he  asked,  "  tell  you  what  were  my 
thoughts  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  trust  me  and  believe  that  a  man  can 
afford  to  be  honest  with  a  woman." 

"  Then  my  thought  was  of  Mrs.  Thornton  —  I  was 
attempting  to  fit  you  into  her  class  —  no !  no !  "  an- 
swering a  very  decided  frown,  "  not  as  to  charm  or 
character,  but  as  to  temperament." 

"  I  can't  help  that,"  she  admitted,  with  a  shake  of 
her  head,  "  and  it  isn't  quite  fair  to  classify  me  with 
her,  because  I  am  capable  of  warm  friendship,  and  I 
feel  things  keenly  —  I'm  not  in  that  lukewarm  class 
that  begin  to  ferment  in  middle  life." 

"  So ! "  he  said,  unconsciously  reverting  to  his 
former  habit  of  speech.  "  The  Mongolian  ponies  are 
easily  taught  to  trot  long  distances  in  harness,  but  the 
trainers  early  discovered  that  the  secret  to  prevent  them 


244      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

from  breaking  into  a  run  was  to  determine  how  high 
each  individual  carried  his  head,  then  hold  it  checked 
by  the  rein  at  that  position  —  I  think  you  may  safely 
do  the  same  with  me  in  reference  to  the  sort  of  friend- 
ship you  offer." 

"  Do  you  infer  that,  like  Mrs.  Thornton,  I  propose 
to  mount  the  box,  and  take  the  reins,  while  you  pull 
the  load  of  the  friendship?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  my  metaphor  was  clumsy,  but  I  — " 

"  Your  metaphor  was  not  clumsy,  and  I  see  exactly 
what  it  holds  out  to  me  —  but  —  suppose  I  would 
rather  give  you  your  head?  " 

"  Hoping  that  I  might  take  the  bits  in  my  teeth  and 
run  away,  so  that  you  would  have  the  fun  of  pulling 
me  down  with  the  curb,  or  throwing  me?" 

"  But  I  shouldn't !  You  see,  to  stick  to  your  meta- 
phor, if  you  ran  away,  I  should  merely  decline  to  run 
away  with  you;  I  should  hop  off  the  box  and  watch 
you." 

"  Ah,  and  one  wouldn't  be  enthusiastic  about  run- 
ning alone.  This  is  so  different,  anyway,  from  your 
abhorrent  idea  of  double  harness." 

"  And  you  see,"  she  added,  "  that  there  is  no  need 
of  the  check-rein.  Friendship  is  so  much  more  satis- 
factory than  marriage.  One  can  step  out  at  any  mo- 
ment, and  there's  no  rumpus,  because  friendship  de- 
pends on  two  agreeing  —  when  they  cease  to,  it  isn't 
—  that  ends  it.  But  love  seems  to  include  a  certain 
amount  of  mauling  —  how  I  hate  mauling!  " 

"  You  mean—  ?" 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      245 

"  I  mean  male  demonstration  of  animal  affection  — 
and  I  abominate  it!  " 

"  Oh !  "  he  said,  "  hence  your  desire  for  a  friendship 
which  is  calm,  always,  and  —  cool  —  and  keeps  its 
distance." 

"  I  don't  want  it  too  calm  and  cool  —  that  means  in- 
difference," she  corrected  him. 

"  Exactly,"  he  agreed,  "  the  true  figure  comes  to  my 
mind  now :  Ideal  friendship  is  typified  by  the  lovely 
Venus  in  the  Louvre  —  one  sees  her  only  to  admire, 
one  studies  her  perfections,  but  in  the  warmest  out- 
burst of  enthusiasm  one  never  forgets  the  little  card 
which  says :  '  Hands  off ! '" 

"  You're  not  punning,  are  you?  "  she  asked,  forget- 
ting for  the  moment  that  this  was  Conger  Howe,  but 
it  ended  their  conversation  unsatisfactorily;  it  was  so 
hard  to  make  him  see  that  he  was  to  maintain  a  re- 
spectful distance  only  by  dint  of  supreme  self-control. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

Alas,  of  all  the  frailties  flesh  is  heir  to  none  is  more 
sinister  than  pride  which  can  be  harsh  and  pitiless  as 
hate,  for  wounded  pride  is  hate's  twin  sister.  Miss 
Grayley's  pride  was  very  dear  to  her,  dearer  than  Miss 
Grayley  herself  knew,  and  Miss  Grayley's  pride  was 
sorely  wounded.  It  was  not  enough  that  she  had  told 
her  friends  and  all  the  summer  colony  of  Waquanesett 
that  she  had  discovered  just  in  time  the  perfidious  char- 
acter of  Conger  Howe,  and  had  forthwith  spurned  him, 
cast  him  out,  and  with  him  the  broken  fragments  of 
their  engagement.  Bess  Grayley  knew  that  her  friends 
didn't  believe  her  story,  that  Conger's  silence  spoke 
more  convincingly  than  her  own  fiery  denunciation, 
and  the  more  she  pondered  that  odious  fact  the  more 
determined  was  she  to  punish  the  man. 

Fortunately,  the  habit  of  observation  had  put  her  in 
possession  of  the  means  to  pay  him  in  full.  All  that 
was  needed  was  to  make  sure  of  her  ground  before  she 
ventured  to  act.  Bess  Grayley  had  thus  far  gone 
through  life  with  her  eyes  open;  very  little  escaped  her, 
and  she  had  prided  herself  on  seeing  things  as  they 
really  were. 

Something  was  wrong,  or  at  least  irregular,  in  Con- 
ger's methods  of  touching  up  and  possibly  even  of  sign- 
ing pictures  that  were  not  his  own  work.  It  was  all 

246 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      247 

well  enough  to  wink  at  practices  distinctly  profitable 
when  you  were  vitally  interested  in  the  profits  —  quite 
another  matter  when  they  no  longer  concerned  you. 
And  one  might  wink  out  of  sight  a  circumstance  undis- 
covered by  any  one  else  so  long  as  no  harm  came  of  it. 
But,  when  it  actually  made  it  possible  for  a  man  to  flout 
his  infidelity  in  her  face  —  that  was  very  different,  it 
became  her  moral  duty  to  expose  and  punish  him  even 
though  his  action  had  been  the  result  of  immoral  par- 
entage and  heathen  education.  The  more  she  thought 
of  it  the  plainer  became  her  duty  as  a  woman  and  a 
Christian. 

First  of  all,  then,  she  must  have  proof  with  which  to 
confront  him  at  the  proper  time.  Was  he  actually 
going  so  far  as  to  forge  the  name  of  Felix  £tron,  or 
did  he  merely  retouch  canvasses  scraped  and  damaged 
by  rough  handling?  She  wasn't  sure  as  to  the  extent 
of  his  transgression,  but  what  she  had  seen  in  her 
limited  opportunities  to  watch  him  had  led  to  the  sus- 
picion that  he  was  taking  here  and  there  one  of  the 
less  characteristic  of  the  great  master's  paintings, 
changing  it  slightly,  and  sending  it  out  under  his  own 
name.  It  was  the  attempt,  it  seemed,  now  that  he  was 
making  plenty  of  money  as  an  agent,  to  build  up  a 
reputation  for  himself.  If  he  had  remained  faithful 
to  her  she  would  have  closed  her  eyes  to  it,  because  — 
well,  one  should  be  loyal  to  one's  own,  and  after  he  had 
saved  up  enough  to  be  comfortable,  she  would  gently 
show  him  that  heathen  customs  and  standards  were  not 
tolerated  in  refined  Christian  society.  He  had,  how- 
ever, seen  fit  to  cut  himself  off  from  her  guidance  and 


248      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

protection,  and  now  he  must  bear  the  consequences. 

He  had  gone  to  New  York  for  a  day  or  two ;  it  was 
an  excellent  opportunity  to  investigate  thoroughly  the 
canvases  in  his  deserted  studio.  She  could  take  her 
own  time,  and  make  sure  exactly  how  far  he  had  dared 
to  go  in  forestalling  the  day  when  the  aged  master 
should  die,  leaving  him  in  possession  of  pictures  which 
he  could  turn  into  cash  or  fame,  whichever  he  prized 
the  more. 

Just  before  five  in  the  afternoon  she  set  out  for  the 
shore,  innocently  equipped  with  novel,  sunshade  and 
knitting-bag.  She  had  almost  persuaded  herself  that 
her  sole  intention  was  to  spend  an  hour  alone,  thinking 
while  she  worked,  or  reading  to  occupy  her  mind  so 
that  she  need  not  think.  She  took  particular  pains 
before  leaving  home  to  see  that  no  one  was  coming 
from  either  direction.  She  wished  to  be  not  only 
alone,  but  unobserved.  But  she  hadn't  gone  a  hun- 
dred yards  before  Barbara  Wrayton  overtook  her. 
Barbara  was  very  sorry  for  .her;  she  thought  it  must  be 
very  hard  for  a  girl  to  be  dropped  as  Bess  had  been, 
and  she  must  help  Bess  to  recover. 

"  Coming  down  for  a  swim  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  I  hate  cold  water ;  and  what's  the  use  ?  I  can't 
swim." 

"It's  only  a  matter  of  practice,  Bess.  Come  on; 
I'll  teach  you  the  new  crawl  stroke." 

"Did  you  learn  that  from  Conger?"  Bess  asked 
sharply,  and  then  could  have  bitten  her  tongue  out  for 
letting  slip  such  a  petulant  admission  of  her  feelings 
even  to  one  who  had  been  her  intimate  friend.  Bar- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      240 

bara  only  turned  and  looked  at  her,  but  in  that  look 
Bess  read  pity,  and  she  didn't  want  pity.  She  wanted 
people  to  act  as  though  they  knew  that  she  had  broken 
it  for  reasons  of  her  own.  She  had  never  been  able 
to  play  a  part  with  Barbara  because  Barbara  insisted 
on  truth  even  when  a  little  distortion  would  serve  her 
purpose  better.  In  such  ways  Bess  had  often  noticed 
Barbara  was  not  clever,  was  rather  masculine  in  fact, 
and  it  amounted  to  a  lack  of  tact. 

"  Bess,"  Barbara  said,  linking  her  arm  in  hers  in  the 
old  way  that  she  had  when  they  were  warmer  friends, 
"  we  must  hold  each  other  up.  I've  just  written  Gal- 
ton  that  it's  no  use;  I  simply  couldn't  go  on  with  it. 
It  isn't  in  me  to  love  —  as  men  expect  to  be  loved.'" 

"  So  that's  the  story !  "  Bess  exclaimed,  disengaging 
her  arm.  '  You've  had  to  come  wheedling  round  to 
own  up  to  that !  " 

"To  what?     You  don't  understand." 

"  Yes,  I  do.  I  understand  much  that  has  been  very 
blind  to  me  until  now.  I  understand  that  you  were 
not  content  with  the  devotion  of  a  splendid  fellow  like 
Galton ;  you  had  to  try  your  hand  at  seducing  Conger 
—  not  that  you  wanted  him,  only  to  show  your  power 
over  a  foundling  without  morals  or  religion." 

"  Don't,  Bess !  "  Barbara  implored,  stopping  her  be- 
fore she  could  say  more  and  worse.  "  You  don't  mean 
anything  like  that  of  Conger  or  of  me." 

"  Oh,  no,"  Bess  blazed,  quite  losing  her  self-control. 
"  I  mean  to  pussy-cat  my  friends  into  a  placid  doze 
while  I  tiptoe  about,  and  rob  them  all.  I  mean  to 
keep  two  or  three  men  dangling  while  I  make  up  my 


250       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

mind  which  one  is  going  to  afford  me  the  biggest  in- 
come. I  mean — " 

"  You  are  talking  silly  nonsense,  Bess,  and  if  there 
was  any  truth  in  it  I  should  probably  be  indignant.  I 
rather  like  your  courage  in  saying  it  to  my  face,  but 
you  know  better." 

"  I  know  worse,  you  mean,"  Bess  fairly  hissed  at 
her,  "  so  much  worse  that  when  you  find  it  out  you'll 
drop  C.  Howe  for  the  serpent  he  is."  And  with  that 
parting  shot  Miss  Bess  Grayley  was  gone.  Half  an 
hour  later  Barbara,  swimming  a  hundred  yards  off 
shore,  and  delighting  in  the  very  motion  as  a  strong 
man  in  battle,  saw  a  pale  blue  figure  come  out  in  front 
of  Myrick's  barn  high  up  on  the  cliff,  and  set  to  work 
prying  the  big  doors  with  a  long  stick.  Why,  she 
wondered,  should  Bess  be  so  anxious  to  get  into  Con- 
ger's studio  that  she  was  willing  to  break  and  enter? 
Perhaps  he  had  some  of  her  letters,  but  surely  he  would 
never  be  mean  enough  to  keep  them  if  she  asked  him 
to  return  them. 

The  door  and  its  padlock  withstood  Bess's  efforts. 
Barbara  could  see  her  throw  down  the  stick  and  dis- 
appear round  the  side  of  the  old  building.  Appar- 
ently she  had  given  it  up ;  she  might  indeed  have  come 
to  her  senses  sufficiently  to  realize  the  sort  of  thing  she 
was  doing.  The  swimmer  turned  and  went  back  to- 
ward the  bathing  beach,  her  easy  stroke  sliding  her 
gracefully  through  the  water.  Once  she  turned  to  look 
back  over  her  shoulder  at  Myrick's,  but  the  blackened, 
weather-beaten  old  barn  stood  lonely  and  deserted 
against  its  background  of  pines.  Even  the  gulls  soar- 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      251 

ing  above  it  took  no  interest  in  its  melancholy  and 
neglected  roof ;  but  the  sunlight,  Barbara  knew,  with 
wiser  judgment,  was  entering  at  that  very  moment  in 
search  of  the  tall,  serious  artist  who  had  worked  there, 
silent,  thoughtful,  industrious,  day  after  day,  with  a 
perseverance  quite  out  of  proportion  to  his  success. 
She  knew,  or  thought  she  knew,  exactly  how  the  in- 
terior of  Myrick's  barn  looked  at  that  moment  while 
she  swam  away  from  it  and  pictured  to  herself  its 
silent  interior  half  lighted  by  the  slanting  rays  that 
stole  in  through  the  broken  roof.  She  could  see  the 
half -finished  pictures  leaning  against  the  wall,  the 
empty  easel,  the  few  pieces  of  broken  furniture;  and 
she  could  hear  the  faint  voices  in  the  pines,  the  weird 
flapping  of  a  loose  shingle,  and  far  overhead  the 
screech  of  the  gulls.  Barbara  could  imagine  exactly 
how  things  looked  and  sounded  at  Myrick's,  but  had 
she  been  there  she  might  have  seen  one  who  had  just 
discovered  that  loose  board  in  the  back  cautiously  in- 
sinuating herself  into  the  gloomy  interior,  first  a  white 
shod  foot,  then  a  pale  blue  skirt,  last  of  all  a  pretty 
head  half  frightened  at  its  own  audacity. 

Prowling  was  new  to  Miss  Bess  Grayley, —  that  is, 
actual,  physical  prowling.  Many  and  many  a  time  she 
had  prowled  in  imagination,  looking  for  sensations 
and  finding  them.  She  had  prowled  thus  into  studios, 
living-rooms,  even  into  bedrooms,  but  from  such 
prowling  it  was  always  possible  to  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
and  swear  that  she  had  never  been  within  a  thousand 
miles  of  the  place.  This  prowling  was  different;  if 
you  were  caught  you  couldn't  deny  it.  One  must  be 


252      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

very  careful  about  this  sort  of  thing.  But  the  end  was 
virtuous  enough  to  justify  the  means.  If  one  could 
expose  fraud  why  be  squeamish  in  getting  the  evidence ! 

Thus  fortified  with  righteous  resolution  Miss  Gray- 
ley  stepped  boldly  in.  That  uncertain  light  aslant 
from  the  holes  in  the  roof  was  uncanny  in  a  great 
black  room  without  a  window.  The  loose  floor 
creaked  beneath  her  stealthy  tread,  and  when  she  stood 
still  it  creaked  again.  "  Never  mind,  there's  no  one 
to  hear  it!"  she  told  herself,  but  still  it  gave  her  a 
horrid  sense  of  being  watched.  Something  invisible 
caught  her  across  the  line  of  her  eyes.  She  stopped 
again  and  put  up  her  hand  to  brush  it  away.  Only  a 
spider's  web,  but  her  heart  was  beating  so  fast  that 
she  could  hear  it  thumping.  She  had  to  take  herself 
in  hand  seriously  after  that,  and  bid  herself  go  on  like 
—  she  could  think  of  no  one  in  history  that  it  was  like, 
not  Joan  of  Arc,  of  course  not,  nor  one  of  the  Marys. 

"  Let's  see,"  she  said  to  hersehf ,  with  the  strange  ir- 
relevance of  one  who  hesitates  on  the  verge  of  action 
and  is  conscious  of  ignoble  fears,  "  let's  see,  there  are 
so  many  noted  Marys  all  the  way  from  God's  mys- 
terious mother  down  to  the  founder  of  Christian  Sci- 
ence. But  why  a  Mary?  There  have  been  Helens, 
too !  And  Elizabeth  —  think  what  an  Elizabeth  man- 
aged to  do,  and  walked  off  with  it,  none  venturing  to 
lift  an  eyebrow!"  This  was  reassuring:  behold  an- 
other Elizabeth  who  also  should  despise  matrimony  as 
an  office  of  supererogation.  Miss  Bess  was  not  alto- 
gether sure  about  supererogation.  It  seemed  to  fit,  but 
she  charged  herself  to  look  it  up  as  soon  as  she  got 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      253 

home.  Then  she  called  in  her  wandering  thoughts  to 
the  business  before  her.  Let  the  boards  creak;  she 
wasn't  afraid  of  noises! 

The  outside  picture  in  that  pile  that  leaned  against 
the  wall  under  the  dryest  part  of  the  roof,  covered  with 
an  old  sail  cloth,  proved  to  be  a  very  rough  sketch  of 
Myrick's.  The  shadows  behind  it  were  so  deep  and 
quiet  and  unfathomable  that  the  woman  lost  for  an 
instant  her  presence  of  mind  and  glanced  uneasily  over 
her  shoulder.  The  next  was  a  girl  —  that  detestable 
Relief  Snow.  "  Hm !  She  fairly  has  the  nerve  to 
smile  at  me,  at  me  who  might  and  will  tell  some  of  the 
things  I've  suspected  about  her  lolling  round  here  half 
dressed  —  half  dressed?  "  That  gave  her  a  new  idea, 
and  she  turned  the  canvases  in  feverish  haste  to  find  a 
nude  that  could  furnish  its  own  evidence  of  what  Miss 
Grayley  termed  immorality,  which  was  never  immoral 
except  when  it  excluded  her.  The  nude  was  not  there, 
but  in  its  place  she  found  one  which  gave  her  far 
greater  satisfaction.  She  carried  it  out  into  one  of 
the  shafts  of  sunlight  where  she  could  examine  it  more 
minutely.  -She  made  pencil  marks,  damning  proofs  to 
call  up  when  she  deemed  it  wise  to  spring  the  trap  so 
deftly  laid  to  bring  C.  Howe  to  his  knees.  "  Not  to 
my  knees,"  she  soliloquized,  "  for,  when  I  expose  him, 
he  will  not  have  the  earning  power  of  a  house-painter 
or  the  reputation  of  a  day  laborer."  Unconsciously 
she  was  assuming  that  her  valuation  of  a  man  was  de- 
pendent on  his  ability  to  supply  her  with  luxury.  She 
could  easily  identify  this  picture  anywhere  now;  even 
though  the  guilty  man  should  try  to  conceal  his  perfidy 


254      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

she  had  seen  it  when  the  proof  was  unquestionable. 

A  twig  snapped  just  outside.  Some  one  was  com- 
ing. She  held  her  breath  and  waited.  No  one  could 
get  in.  She  was  safe  if  she  made  no  sound.  She  felt 
an  irresistible  desire  to  cough,  but  checked  it  with  a 
hand  over  her  mouth.  A  sound  of  sniffing,  sniffing 
came  nearer  and  nearer  along  the  wall  of  the  building. 
It  stopped  opposite  where  she  crouched.  Another 
twig  snapped,  and  then  came  the  rushing,  scurrying  of 
footsteps  up  and  down,  up  and  down,  too  quick  even 
for  a  child.  A  dog  —  that  yellow  dog !  How  had 
he  tracked  her?  Perhaps  by  keeping  very  quiet  she 
might  fool  him  into  the  belief  the  old  barn  was  empty 
—  if  only  that  common  girl  wasn't  with  him !  Coun- 
try bumpkin  that  put  on  airs  and  thought  herself  pretty 
because  C.  Howe  had  used  her  as  a  model ! 

What  a  tiresome,  tireless  dog!  Would  he  never 
stop  sniffing  and  tearing  up  and  down  ? 

After  a  time  it  became  plain  that  he  was  alone,  he 
was  doing  this  bit  of  detective  work  on  his  own  re- 
sponsibility and,  Heaven  be  praised,  whatever  he  dis- 
covered, he  could  never  by  any  chance  tell.  So  she 
grew  accustomed  to  the  watchful  presence  outside,  and 
finally  decided  to  walk  boldly  forth,  ignoring  his  ex- 
istence. 

He  was  waiting  for  her  when  she  came  out  cau- 
tiously through  the  narrow  aperture,  backwards  to 
avoid  catching  her  skirt.  He  showed  his  teeth  in  a 
nasty,  vicious  snarl,  and  barred  her  way  with  head 
down  and  forelegs  extended,  ready  to  spring.  Bess 
was  afraid;  she  kicked  at  him  violently;  he  came 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      255 

nearer  as  though  to  dare  her,  and  she  caught  him  on 
the  jaw.  There  was  no  getting  away  from  the  vicious 
brute,  no  time  to  crawl  back  into  the  barn.  He 
jumped,  and  seized  her  skirt,  tearing  the  thin  fabric  in 
a  huge  zigzag  rent,  and  then  he  caught  her  by  the  leg 
and  bit  her  savagely.  She  wanted  to  scream  for  help, 
but  wanted  more  to  get  away  undiscovered. 

With  that  one  bite  the  yellow  dog  was  more  than 
satisfied;  his  temper  cooled,  he  was  very  sorry  for 
what  he  had  done.  His  drooping  tail  and  ears  told 
that  excessive  zeal  in  his  master's  service  had  carried 
him  much  farther  than  he  had  meant  to  go.  He  tried 
hard  to  apologize  and  make  amends  with  friendly  wag- 
ging tail  and  soft  lapping  tongue.  The  woman  saw 
these  signs ;  they  were  unmistakable,  but  her  leg  pained 
her;  she  could  even  feel  a  little  trickle  of  blood  run- 
ning down  into  her  shoe.  "  Get  out,  you  nasty  brute !  " 
she  cried,  and  the  yellow  dog  slunk  off,  fearfully 
ashamed.  It  was  a  long  time  since  his  temper  had  got 
the  better  of  him,  and  he  was  only  defending  his  mas- 
ter's property  against  sneaks,  prowlers,  enemies  of  his 
Deity. 

By  good  luck  Miss  Grayley  got  back  home,  having 
escaped  every  inquisitive  eye,  and  reached  her  own 
room.  The  skirt  was  an  irretrievable  loss  and  ne- 
cessitated a  tale  of  briers  to  account  for  it.  Exulta- 
tion over  the  splendid  success  of  her  enterprise  was 
dampened  by  the  dread  that  those  toothmarks  would 
forever  remain  to  mar  the  loveliness  of  a  faultless 
calf.  Her  rage  towards  the  poor  yellow  dog  waxed 
the  hotter  now  that  she  felt  herself  safe  from  dis- 


256      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

covery.  "  That  cur  daring  to  attack  a  lady  simply  be- 
cause she  happened  to  be  — !  "  But  she  left  the  sen- 
tence unfinished;  some  things  seem  far  worse  when 
we  put  them  into  words.  There  is  a  psychological  side 
to  that,  and  some  people  can  feel  that  if  you  don't  speak 
of  it,  give  it  a  name,  it  doesn't  exist. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

Mary  M.  didn't  often  take  her  washing  out  in  the 
yard,  not  that  there  was  much  passing  on  their  road, 
but  —  well,  it  wasn't  the  way  the  Snows  did  things. 
To  be  sure,  this  was  not  a  regular  wash,  it  wasn't  Mon- 
day for  that  matter,  but  there  were  aprons  and  a 
couple  of  table  cloths  and  a  pair  of  pants  belonging  to 
Gene.  And  the  day  was  so  hot  and  sultry  that  Mary 
M.  was  stifling  in  the  shed,  so  she  carried  the  tub  right 
out  in  the  yard.  And  that  is  how  it  happened  that  she 
saw  Cy  Small  go  down  towards  the  shore  with  his  shot 
gun.  Mary  M.  heard  some  one  shout  and  she  looked 
up  "  and  there  was  Gene  over  acrost  the  rud  rakin' 
hay  an'  hollerin'  at  Molly.  That  hoss,  father  says,  is 
too  skittish  like  to  work  on  rowen ;  it's  too  much  rake 
and  turn  round,  and  nothin'  to  drag  like  an'  let  you 
know  there's  somethin'  back  o'  ye." 

And  it  was  her  interest  in  brother  Gene  and  Molly 
that  accounted  for  her  happening  to  see  Cy  Small,  and 
that  is  how  she  explained  it  later  to  Dr.  Doon. 

Cy  Small  looked  over  the  fence  and  saw  her  there; 
he  noted  the  roundness  of  her  arms,  that  her  bust  as 
she  bent  over  the  wash  tub  was  remarkably  firm  and 
well  proportioned  and,  in  spite  of  the  tapering  small- 
ness  of  her  waist,  he  felt  morally  certain  that  she  didn't 
wear  a  corset.  He  rebuked  himself  for  never  having 
been  nice  enough  to  Mary  M.  and  resolved  that,  once 
he  was  through  with  the  business  in  hand,  he  would  be 

257 


258      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

particularly  polite  to  Cap'n  Thoph's  oldest  girl.  Cy, 
in  the  almost  infinite  variety  of  his  own  huge  family, 
had  a  daughter  just  Mary  M's.  age,  but  he  could  ap- 
preciate comeliness  in  the  daughters  of  others,  and  was 
not  narrow  in  fixing  age  limits. 

To  Mary  M.,  Cy  Small  was  an  old  man  with  gray 
hair  and  a  poor  little  wornout  wife  who  was  a  constant 
reminder  of  the  text,  "  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he 
chasteneth."  Mary  M.  wasn't  above  thinking  about 
younger  men.  Most  days,  she  might  have  told  you, 
she  was  too  tired  and  her  back  ached  too  badly  to  think 
about  anything,  but  often  of  a  Sunday  morning,  when 
she  could  enjoy  the  luxury  of  lying  abed  till  six  o'clock, 
she  would  revel  in  the  wildest  imaginings.  In  such 
dreams  a  perfect  swell,  with  a  small  mustache  and  a 
silk  hat  and  very  shiny  boots,  invariably  came  from 
Noo  Yawk  direct  to  Waquanesett,  saw  the  well- 
rounded  arms,  the  curly  hair  and  other  attractions  of 
Mary  M.  and,  vaulting  the  garden  fence,  laid  all  his 
treasures  at  her  feet.  The  sequel  to  this  weekly  ro- 
mance kept  Mary  M.  patient  and  exalted  through  the 
Sunday  morning  sermon  and  the  long  prayer.  And 
well  it  might,  for  it  included  a  quarrel  due  to  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  multi-millionaire,  the  reconciliation,  the 
warmth  of  which  caused  Mary  M.  to  look  very  red 
and  fan  herself  vigorously,  the  wedding  and  three  sub- 
sequent illnesses  resulting  in  three  tiny  silk  hat  wearers. 
To  a  girl  who  had  such  a  lover,  even  in  her  mind,  Cy 
Small  cut  a  sorry  figure  as  a  Cupid. 

Relief  came  out  wearing  once  more  the  purple  dress 
with  the  orange  moons.  "  What's  up,  Rill  ? "  the 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      259 

older  sister  asked.  "  What  you  dressed  up  for  this 
time  o'  day?  "  Relief  went  over  close  to  the  wash  tub 
so  that  her  reply  needn't  be  heard  by  watchful  parents, 
and  explained :  "  He's  comin'  home  to-day.  Not 
that  he  cares  what  I  have  on  —  but  it  does  seem  — 
you  see  it's  the  least  I  can  do,  ain't  it?  " 

And  Mary  M.  nodded,  poor  Mary  M.,  who  had 
never  so  much  as  seen  her  hero  of  the  silk  hat!  But 
she  understood  what  Rill  didn't  say,  and  when  she  bent 
once  more  over  the  washtub,  two  big  tears  fell  splash- 
ing into  the  soapsuds.  Mary  M.  had  heard  enough 
from  Rill's  own  lips  to  divine  the  hopelessness  of  her 
latest  infatuation.  She  was  glad  Rill  understood  it 
too,  but,  bless  you!  you  never  could  keep  Rill  from 
loving  something  with  all  her  heart  and  soul.  Poor 
little  Rill! 

But  poor  little  Rill  was  on  her  way  to  the  shore, 
singing  as  she  went,  for  the  joy  that  was  in  her  heart. 
Never  mind  if  he  didn't  think  of  her  as  she  thought  of 
him.  He  was  always  good  and  dear  and  thoughtful 
—  such  a  boy,  after  all,  and  always  that  look  between 
his  eyes  as  if  he  couldn't  quite  make  you  out  —  but 
wanted  to. 

Cap'n  Thoph,  lumbering  up  from  the  fish-house  in 
his  heavy  oilers,  met  her,  frowned  at  the  beautiful  pur- 
ple dress,  then,  remembering  sundry  warnings  from 
Mrs.  Snow,  unbuttoned  the  frown  and  looked  silly  and 
could  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  his  youngest  child. 
Women  are  more  tactful.  Relief,  welcoming  his 
change  of  expression,  showed  her  gratitude  by  inquir- 
ing as  to  the  fish  in  the  weir. 


26o      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Get  much  to  the  ware  this  mornin',  pa  ?  I  see  the 
wind  was  settin'  to  the  north." 

"  Abaout  two  berrels  o'  squid  'n  a  few  blue  fish. 
But  them  damn  dogfish  nigh  'most  tore  the  lint  off  the 
paound." 

"  Father's  different,"  Relief  said  to  herself,  as  she 
kept  on  toward  the  shore.  "  I  dunno  whether  he's 
gettin'  old  or  what's  struck  him.  But  he  doesn't  glare 
at  me  with  the  wrath  o'  God  in  his  eye,  the  way  he 
useter.  He's  softenin'  up,  an'  it  does  improve  him." 
She  wasn't  conscious  of  any  love  for  the  old  man, — 
didn't  remember  a  time  when  she  had  loved  him. 
Mother  and  Mary  M.,  yes,  she  loved  them,  and  Gene 
a  little.  But  mother  and  Mary  M.  and  Gene  had 
never  shaken  God  at  her ! 

Then  she  fell  to  thinking  about  Him.  There  wasn't 
any  name  by  which  it  seemed  natural  to  call  him.  He 
was  her  artist.  He  was  her  ideal  of  a  gentleman  and 
a  man.  All  the  others  could  be  classified,  were  classi- 
fied into  so  many  grades  of  prehensile  males,  and,  ac- 
cording to  their  grades,  so  the  more  or  the  less  did  they 
lay  hold  upon  and  appropriate  whatsoever  they  chanced 
to  covet.  The  one  and  only  exception  was  Conger 
Howe,  the  heathen,  the  foundling  —  for  Relief  had 
more  than  once  heard  the  whole  story.  Possibly  she 
gave  him  too  great  credit.  She  did  not  analyze;  she 
did  not  use  the  word  "  prehensile."  "  Grabbing " 
meant  the  same,  but  the  classification  was  hers.  He 
wouldn't  by  any  chance  reach  the  studio  for  an  hour, 
but  she  would  wait  outside  on  the  bench  where  he  loved 
to  sit,  and  she  would  look  out  over  the  great  bay  now 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      261 

buried  beneath  the  incoming  tide.  She  would  watch 
the  gulls  flying  shoreward,  gorged  with  feeding  in 
the  weirs ;  she  would  follow  the  fleecy  clouds  breaking 
into  long  white  streaks  before  the  freshening  breeze. 
How  much  he  had  taught  her!  How  many  things  he 
had  pointed  out  that  she  had  never  seen  before! 

In  the  woods  that  freshening  breeze  did  not  pene- 
trate ;  it  was  very  hot,  and  mosquitoes  were  thick  and 
bold.  She  was  glad  it  would  be  cooler  in  the  shade  of 
My  rick's  barn.  Checkerberries  grew  plentifully  by 
the  side  of  the  path,  the  leaves  still  tender.  She  loved 
to  chew  them,  and  taste,  long  after,  the  fresh  cool  bite 
they  left  on  her  tongue.  A  little  bunch  of  goldenrod, 
the  very  earliest  of  the  season,  adorned  her  belt  and 
fought  shamelessly  with  the  orange  moons,  but  Relief 
had  not  yet  developed  a  sensitive  eye  for  colors.  Hers 
was  of  the  aboriginal  type  such  as  delights  many  of 
the  moderns  —  a  distinct  reversion  to  the  primitive. 
Possibly  they  are  right,  and  there  is  no  such  thing  as 
discord  in  colors.  If  there  is,  Relief  Snow  hadn't 
suspected  it,  and  disagreement  was  farthest  from  her 
thoughts  when  she  was  startled  by  a  shot.  The  sound 
came  from  the  direction  of  Myrick's.  It  might  have 
been  just  off  shore,  but  who  would  be  shooting  in  mid- 
summer at  the  shore?  "The  law's  on,  and  they 
wouldn't  darst  at  this  time  o'  year,"  Rill  told  herself 
as  another  shot  rang  out.  Then  she  began  to  run. 
She  didn't  know  why  she  ran,  it  was  an  instinctive 
feeling  that  something  must  be  wrong. 

She  came  out  breathless  on  the  bluff  by  the  old  barn. 
No  one  was  there.  Not  a  sound  broke  the  stillness  of 


262      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

the  summer  day.  Then,  far  down  below  her,  a 
woman's  voice  cried:  "This  way!  This  way!" 
And,  peering  over  the  edge,  she  saw  a  man  and  a 
woman  running  up  the  beach,  much  hampered  in  their 
progress  by  the  soft  sand.  The  man  carried  a  gun, 
and  the  woman  was  cutting  across  ahead  of  him  to 
reach  the  gully  beyond  the  bluff  where  they  could  not 
be  seen. 

Something  lay  on  the  beach  directly  below  Myrick's, 
and  writhed,  struggling  to  get  up.  A  horrid  fear 
seized  Relief  that  she  knew  what  it  was,  that  writhing 
object  not  much  darker  or  yellower  than  the  sand  on 
which  it  lay,  and  she  flew  down  the  winding  path, 
heedless  now  of  the  couple  fleeing  up  the  beach,  heed- 
less of  the  precious  purple  gown.  Was  it  what  she 
feared  ?  "  Oh,  God !  "  she  prayed  as  she  ran.  "  Don't 
let  it  be  that !  Don't  let  it  be  that !  " 


CHAPTER  XXX 

When  Bess  Grayley,  in  the  privacy  of  her  own  bed- 
room, had  removed  the  wrecked  blue  gown,  had  very 
gingerly  peeled  off  the  blood-stained  white  stocking 
and  bathed  her  wound,  a  smart  remained  more  poig- 
nant than  the  bite  itself,  more  bitter  than  the  dread  of 
infection.  That  common  yellow  dog  had  attacked  her, 
a  lady,  and  he  still  lived.  Alcohol  and  a  strip  of  linen 
could  go  far  as  a  substitute  for  the  cauterizing  that 
she  dared  not  ask  for.  But  what,  she  pondered,  could 
heal  the  deeper  wound  ?  Retribution ! 

Cy  Small,  she  believed,  once  owned  the  cur;  and  Cy 
would  do  anything  for  a  dollar.  Hadn't  the  doctor 
once  said  that  Cy  Small  would  do  almost  anything  for 
fifty  cents  —  anything  but  work!  Cy  was  the  man 
to  get. 

It  was  a  long  walk  up  to  his  house,  long,  hot,  and 
dusty.  But  she  started  early  and  had  her  reward  in 
finding  Cy  in  his  dooryard.  His  coat  was  off,  also  his 
collar,  apparently  in  readiness  for  work.  At  present 
his  back  alone  was  visible.  He  stood  on  one  foot, 
the  other  elevated  to  the  first  bar  of  the  pigsty  fence, 
and  watched  intently  two  aged  sows  who  were  asleep 
in  the  mud.  When  Cy,  Jr.,  beholding  a  lady  caller, 
hailed  him  with,  "Father!  I  say,  father!"  he  re- 
plied without  turning  round:  "Shut  up,  son;  I'm 
busy  now !  " 

263 


264      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

So  the  lady  herself  approached  and  plucked  him  by 
his  dirty  shirt-sleeve.  Then  he  turned,  took  out  his 
corn-cob  pipe,  spit  once,  and  said :  "  How  d'ye  do  ? 
You  wanta  see  the  missis,  I  s'pose."  Having  removed 
his  pipe  he  didn't  deem  it  necessary  to  bother  about  his 
hat,  and  the  lady  visitor  almost  lifted  it  off  his  head 
with  surprise  when  she  said,  "  I've  come  to  see  you, 
Mr.  Small  —  on  a  matter  of  business." 

Mr.  Small,  who  couldn't  remember  any  similar  ex- 
perience in  his  entire  life,  was  distinctly  flattered. 
"Will  you  step  inside?"  he  asked.  It  seemed  more 
fitting  to  the  transaction  of  business  than  leaning  up 
against  the  pigsty.  The  children,  curious  to  know  who 
and  what  and  why,  had  come  within  hearing  distance, 
so  the  lady  thought  well  of  the  suggestion,  and  they 
went  in,  where  children  might  not  overhear  and  draw 
their  own  conclusions  in  the  irritating  way  of  children. 

Mrs.  Small  was  in  the  kitchen  as  they  went  through 
and  looked  up  from  the  sink  where  she  was  peeling 
potatoes.  She  was  a  large  slatternly  woman  with 
watery  eyes  and  a  secret  that  she  took  no  pains  to  con- 
ceal. "  Good  heavens !  "  thought  the  lady  visitor, 
"  isn't  there  even  an  age  limit  in  the  Small  family  ?  " 
And  then  she  and  Cy  Small  were  in  the  parlor  with 
the  door  shut,  and  she  was  seated  on  the  haircloth- 
covered  sofa  that  hadn't  been  dusted  for  months  until 
she  sat  down.  The  room  was  damp  and  close,  and 
smelt  of  decaying  wood.  The  dirty,  faded  wallpaper 
was  streaked  with  the  records  of  a  bad  leak  under  one 
window,  and  the  Rogers  group  on  the  white  marble- 
topped  table  no  longer  was  true  to  its  title,  "  The  Eve- 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      265 

ning  Hour,"  for  the  kneeling  child  had  lost  her  head, 
and  it  lay  in  the  mother's  lap  along  with  a  collection  of 
burnt  matches  and  an  abortive  lottery  ticket. 

The  business  was  soon  settled,  as  soon  as  the  dollar 
fee  was  mentioned.  Cy  got  his  shotgun,  which  wasn't 
where  he  thought  it  was,  but  finally  was  discovered  in 
the  woodshed  where  he  had  left  it,  and  they  set  out, 
Cy  following  at  a  distance  so  as  not  to  excite  suspi- 
cion. After  all,  that  dog  had  been  condemned  once, 
and  his  record  at  that  time  was  very  bad.  It  was  a 
public  service  to  get  such  a  menace  out  of  the  way. 
The  lady  knew  the  dog's  habits,  had  better  reason  to 
know  than  she  confided  to  Cy  Small,  and  knew  that 
in  his  master's  absence  he  spent  most  of  his  time  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Myrick's. 

And  there  they  found  him  lying  curled  up  in  the  sun 
by  the  big  doors,  now  padlocked.  He  rose  when  they 
came  near  and,  when  they  turned  aside  to  avoid  him, 
lay  down  again.  They  didn't  concern  him  so  long  as 
they  didn't  trespass  on  sacred  ground.  He  didn't 
sleep,  however,  for  he  knew  them  both,  and  neither 
pleased  him. 

"  Xot  here,"  the  lady  had  said.  "  This  is  too  con- 
spicuous. You  must  get  him  down  on  the  beach !  " 
So  they  found  a  rough  path  down,  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
to  the  eastward,  and  came  back  till  they  were  opposite 
Myrick's  barn.  From  down  below  there  was  no  sign 
of  the  yellow  dog.  Cy  whistled,  and  he  stood  up, 
came  to  the  edge,  and  looked  down  at  them.  Again 
Cy  whistled,  and  the  dog  wagged  his  tail,  which  was 
his  way  of  saying,  "  All  right,  what's  up?  "  He  had 


266      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

no  intention  of  going  down  there  to  join  them.  Then 
they  threw  stones  at  him,  those  thrown  by  the  lady 
landing  a  quarter  way  up  the  bluff;  but  those  thrown 
by  Cy  Small  came  near  enough,  so  the  yellow  dog 
thought,  to  indicate  hostility.  He  barked  a  protest, 
and  was  answered  with  hisses.  Once  more  he  barked 
a  warning  that  ended  in  a  deep  growl.  A  shower  of 
stones  and  hisses  was  the  answer  from  below.  He 
started  towards  them  down  the  steep  bank  where  no 
man  could  keep  his  footing.  Before  he  reached  them 
a  stone  had  hit  him,  and  the  woman,  the  woman  he 
had  never  liked,  was  hissing  at  him,  daring  him  to  come 
on.  He  wasn't  afraid  of  her.  He  saw  Cy  Small 
raise  his  gun  to  his  shoulder;  he  had  seen  Cy  do  that 
a  good  many  times.  It  meant  a  loud  noise  and  a  dead 
bird,  but  where  was  the  bird  ?  The  shot  rattled  round 
him.  Something  stung  him  in  the  shoulder.  He 
stoped  short,  and,  with  ears  pricked,  tried  to  under- 
stand what  Cy  was  about.  He  came  down  on  to  the 
beach  quite  near  them,  walking  slowly,  uncertain.  Cy 
raised  the  gun  again,  and  fired  point  blank.  Without 
a  sound  the  dog  dropped,  and  lay  panting  in  agony. 
A  great  gaping  wound  in  his  side  poured  forth  its  red 
toll  upon  the  sand  almost  at  the  lady's  feet,  and  once 
he  turned  his  head  to  look  at  it,  for  even  then  he  could 
not  understand  that  the  man  he  once  called  master  had 
done  this  thing  to  him. 

Far  down  the  beach  a  tiny  speck  moved.  It  was 
hurrying  towards  them.  And  the  woman  saw  it,  and 
the  man  and  the  woman  ran,  leaving  the  yellow  dog 
to  die  alone  there  on  the  beach  in  front  of  Myrick's. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

Dr.  Doon  numbered  among  his  patients  one  family 
that  rivalled  the  Smalls  in  the  race  for  the  Queen's 
Bounty"  They  were  what  the  natives  call  "  Portu- 
gees,"  and  they  lived  in  a  tiny  shack  at  the  water's 
edge,  near  the  eastern  boundary  of  the  town.  Whether 
by  accident  or  from  a  desire  to  be  eccentric,  the  young 
man  whose  arrival  was  to  add  yet  another  star  to  the 
galaxy  of  this  Portugee  family,  refused  to  enter  the 
world  according  to  what  is  considered  good  form,  and 
uttered  his  protest,  much  to  Dr.  Doon's  disgust,  by 
protruding  his  feet.  So  the  good  doctor  whose  fee  for 
obstetrical  service  was  twenty-five  dollars,  and  who 
never  got  more  than  five  from  the  father  of  so  many 
"  Portugees,"  sent  back  his  gig  and  the  fleabitten  gray 
in  charge  of  the  eldest  son,  and  spent  the  night  officiat- 
ing in  the  triple  capacity  of  family  physician,  nurse  and 
anaesthetist.  The  result  was  another  lusty,  squalling 
"  Portugee,"  a  tired,  dozing  mother  in  a  stuffy  little 
room;  a  very  unconcerned  father  who  grunted  and 
went  off  to  work  as  though  he  knew  nothing  whatever 
about  it  —  and  a  rotund  but  jaded  doctor  who  left 
during  the  forenoon  to  walk  home  along  the  beach 
where  he  could  get  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 

And  as  Dr.  Doon,  holding  his  hat  in  his  hand  that 
he  might  feel  the  air  on  his  bald  head,  came  round 

267 


268      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Quagit  Point,  walking  slowly,  meditating  on  life  and 
what  people  do  with  it  —  he  saw  a  white  puff  of  smoke, 
and  then  he  heard  the  report  of  a  gun.  He  spied  two 
figures  on  the  beach,  and  then  came  another  puff  of 
smoke  and  another  report.  The  two  figures  started 
at  a  run,  and  soon  were  lost  to  sight ;  another,  appar- 
ently a  woman,  came  hurying  down  the  path  from  My- 
rick's.  He  could  see  now  her  skirts  fluttering  as  she 
ran,  and,  forgetful  of  his  own  sober  advice  to  fat 
people  never  to  hurry,  the  doctor,  fearing  there  was 
need  of  his  skill,  began  to  run  also,  and,  after  a  few 
yards,  to  walk  again  and  breathe  very  hard  and  fast. 
He  took  off  his  coat  and  carried  it  over  his  arm.  He 
had  by  now  quite  forgotten  his  sleepless  night. 

Relief,  on  her  knees,  was  bending  over  something 
that  she  completely  hid,  but  her  sobs  forewarned  the 
good  man  that  he  had  come  upon  a  tragedy. 

"  Now,  let  me  see,  dear,  just  how  bad  it  is.  There, 
there !  That's  a  good  little  girl,"  as  he  gently  put  her 
aside  to  examine  the  wound,  and  adjusted  his  spectacles 
for  a  careful  scrutiny.  The  dog  feebly  tried  to  raise 
his  stubby  tail  in  thanks,  and  with  his  mournful  eyes 
upon  the  doctor's  lay  still  and  never  winced  during  the 
painful  examination. 

Relief  sobbed  incessantly,  and  the  doctor  worked 
once  more  to  save  a  life.  Neither  knew  how  or  when 
he  came,  but  suddenly  Conger  Howe  was  with  them, 
and  he  had  fallen  flat  beside  the  yellow  dog,  encircling 
him  tenderly  in  both  his  arms,  burying  his  face  in  the 
dog's  face.  And  the  yellow  dog  forgot  his  awful 
hurt,  and  licked  his  master's  cheek. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      269 

Dr.  Doon,  glancing  back  from  these  two  to  the  girl, 
saw  that  blood  was  dripping  from  the  bunch  of  golden- 
rod  she  wore,  and  that  it  stained  the  orange  moons. 

,  No  word  was  spoken.  One  long,  agonizing  look 
that  took  in  the  cruel  injury,  the  dark  clotted  blood,  the 
dear,  patient  eyes,  so  pleased  to  find  him  there,  and 
Conger,  lost  to  all  else  on  earth,  was  living  only  for 
the  yellow  dog  and  the  few  short  minutes  they  still 
might  have  together.  If  he  heard  the  girl's  sobs  he 
heeded  them  no  more  than  the  raucous  cry  of  the  crows 
that  came  to  look  from  a  safe  distance  and  whet  their 
craven  appetites  in  the  shadow  of  death. 

He  could  feel  the  pulse  grow  weaker.  The  tongue 
tried  for  one  last  time  to  carry  its  message  of  love  and 
devotion.  The  eyes,  blurred  and  dim,  sought  for  one 
final  smile  from  the  god  of  their  worship,  failed,  closed 
on  the  world ;  and,  with  a  sigh  —  the  yellow  dog  was 
dead. 

The  man  still  lay  there  with  the  warm  body  in  his 
arms ;  the  girl  still  sobbed,  holding  her  face  in  her  two 
hands.  The  doctor  rose,  picked  up  his  coat  and  hat, 
and  silently  resumed  his  journey  up  the  beach. 

Two  hours  later  Rill  and  Conger  Howe  stood  by  a 
little  grave,  fresh  filled  and  covered  with  pine  boughs, 
close  by  the  old  bench  in  front  of  Myrick's  barn.  Con- 
ger straightened  up  and,  with  his  hands  clasped  behind 
him,  gazed  at  the  far-off  sky  line.  The  girl  knelt  and 
laid  her  withered  bunch  of  goldenrod  on  the  grave; 
then  softly  turned  to  walk  away  and  leave  the  lonely 
watcher  with  his  grief. 


2;o      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  I  must  hear  about  it,"  he  said,  gently.  "  Much  as 
I  hate  to  know  the  horrible  details,  you  must  tell  me 
how  and  why  it  happened."  And  so  she  told  him  all 
she  knew,  which  wasn't  much  after  all,  and  neither 
tried  to  keep  back  the  tears  that  overflowed  afresh  at 
thought  of  it.  . 

"  I  think  it  was  that  —  Miss  Grayley  that  done  it," 
Relief  ended  her  story,  and  he  only  nodded  and  said, 
"  I  am  afraid  that  is  so."  Surely,  the  girl  thought, 
that  wasn't  the  end  of  it !  And  she  asked : 

"  Ain't  you  goin'  to  do  somethin' —  to  get  even?  " 
"  Would  anything  bring  back  the  life  that  is  lost?  " 
That  was  all.     The  great  doors  were  unlocked  and 
swung  open,  the  easel  was  placed  where  the  light  was 
best,  and  C.  Howe  went  to  work  as  though  no  inter- 
ruption had  marred  his  day  —  no  dearly  loved  friend 
had  left  him  never  to  return. 

And,  as  in  those  old  days,  when  he  was  a  boy  in 
China,  so  now  the  man  felt  no  resentment,  only  the 
burning  sorrow  that  another  chapter  in  his  life  had 
come  to  untimely  end.  The  Empress  Dowager!  He 
still  shuddered  at  the  name.  The  suspicion  suggested 
itself  that  women  were  more  cruel  than  men.  Then 
the  image  of  Ya-tzu  came  to  correct  that  error, — 
Ya-tzu,  so  much  kinder  than  the  Rat!  One  must  not 
grow  bitter,  for  life  holds  more  sunshine  than  sorrow. 
Nothing,  no  loss,  no  grief,  no  disappointment,  should 
blind  his  eyes  to  that.  So  his  thoughts  ran  as  he 
worked,  but  Relief,  who  watched  him,  saw  that  the 
lines  between  his  eyes  were  deeper,  that  his  lips  were 
shut  together  very  tight,  and  Relief  knew  that  not 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      271 

without  a  mighty  struggle  was  the  man  triumphing 
over  his  hour  of  blackness. 

Dr.  Doon,  who  had  from  the  first  made  up  his  mind 
to  find  out  by  whom  and  why  the  cowardly  deed  was 
done,  called  over  the  fence  to  Mary  M.  as  she  was 
carrying  in  an  armful  of  wood  for  the  kitchen  fire. 
And  Mary  M.  came  out  to  the  gate,  still  cherishing  her 
kindlings.  The  doctor  was  in  his  gig  and  wanted  to 
know  whether  a  man  and  a  woman  had  been  by  their 
house  with  a  gun.  Mary  M.  felt  quite  important  to  be 
able  to  state  how  she  happened  to  look  up  and  see  Cy 
Small. 

"  But  there  wa'n't  no  lady  along  o'  him  then. 
Leastways  I  didn't  see  none." 

'  Thanks !  "  Dr.  Doon  said,  and,  as  he  turned  the 
fleabitten  gray  in  the  narrow  grass-grown  road,  he 
added : 

"  I'll  soon  get  the  rest  of  it  out  of  him." 

"  Well,  I  think  you'd  orter  tell  me  what  you  find 
out,  bein's  I  told  you  who  done  it." 

"Who  did  what?"  he  asked.  "Has  Rill  got 
home?" 

"  No,  she  ain't.  But  I  think  you  might  tell  me 
what  —  what  the  man  —  and  the  gun  —  and  Rill  done. 
I  don't  hev  no  chance,  tied  up  here  doin'  house-work, 
to  see  things,  no  excitin'  times  —  only  prayer-meetin' 
an'  a  very  few  funerals." 

"  All  right,  Mary  M.,  I'll  come  back  and  tell  you," 
and  with  that  the  fleabitten  gray  was  off  again. 

For  the  doctor  who  spent  his  life  in  setting  people 
right,  broken  people  who  needed  mending,  sick  people 


272      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

who  needed  guiding,  silly  people  who  needed  correct- 
ing, stricken  people  who  needed  comforting,  saw  in  this 
another  case,  and  went  to  treat  it  with  all  the  zeal  and 
all  the  skill  at  his  command.  And  he  needed  it  all  to 
penetrate  the  hide  of  Cy  Small,  who  only  puffed  out 
his  cheeks  when  told  that  it  was  the  artist  who  had 
been  helping  him  to  keep  his  family  during  the  past  two 
winters,  and  whined  his  favorite  dirge  about  the  rich 
growing  richer  and  the  poor  poorer.  "  Ain't  I  even 
got  a  right  to  earn  an  honest  penny?  "  he  wailed. 

"  You  damn  fool,"  the  doctor  retorted,  "  you 
haven't  the  decency  of  a  skunk,  you  and  your  honest 
penny;  don't  you  know  that  for  years  the  rich  have 
been  growing  poorer  and  the  poor  richer;  that  it  has 
been  a  blessing  to  mankind,  and  that  now  the  only 
danger  is  it  may  go  too  far  in  the  opposite  direction? 
Damn  you ! "  And  the  irate  doctor  shook  his  fist  in 
Cy's  face.  What  a  sense  of  decency  or  a  suspicion 
of  gratitude  failed  to  arouse  in  the  craven  breast  of 
Mr.  Small  was  finally  awakened  when  Dr.  Doon  pic- 
tured the  athletic  C.  Howe  itching  to  close  his  fingers 
upon  the  throat  of  the  man  who  killed  his  dog. 

"Did  you  ever  see  him  pitch  hay?"  the  doctor 
added.  "  Have  you  seen  him  run  for  miles  on  the 
road  like  a  racehorse,  or  tear  through  the  water  like  a 
motor  boat?  There  isn't  a  man  in  these  parts  could 
live  five  minutes  in  a  fight  with  him !  And  I  can  teli 
you  one  thing,  you  poisoned  pimple !  you  needn't  send 
for  me  to  patch  up  your  wounds,  I'd  throw  salt  in 
them  —  if  there's  enough  of  you  left  to  recognize 
when  he  gets  through  with  you." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      273 

With  that  fusillade  the  doctor,  very  red  in  the  face, 
left  him,  left  a  very  different  man  from  the  blusterer 
he  had  found,  a  man  whose  face  and  neck  were  wet 
with  a  cold  sweat,  a  man  who  went  round  locking 
doors  and  windows,  who  crawled  upstairs  to  his  bed, 
telling  Mrs.  Small  that  the  rheumatiz  had  struck  to  his 
heart,  and  never  left  his  bed  for  ten  days,  trembling 
all  over  every  time  the  sound  of  wagon  or  motor  or 
hurrying  footsteps  could  be  heard.  Every  night  he 
would  start  up  terrified  by  some  fearful  dream  in 
which  the  tall  dark  artist  was  stalking  him,  ready  to 
pounce,  and  Mrs.  Small,  who  knew  nothing  of  her  hus- 
band's doings  save  that  he  was  the  father  of  all  but 
one  of  the  little  Smalls,  would  comfort  him  as  she 
would  a  child  sick  with  fever.  From  his  unwilling 
lips  the  good  doctor  had  wrung  the  name  of  the  woman, 
and  once  Miss  Grayley's  name  had  come  out  Cy  threw 
upon  her  the  whole  burden  of  his  guilt,  vowing  that 
he  had  never  known  an  unkind  or  evil  thought,  and 
beseeching  the  doctor  to  put  the  blame  where  it  be- 
longed. Poor  Cy  Small  was  not  the  first  man  to  cry 
that  the  woman  had  tempted  him. 

Diagnosis  is  two-thirds  of  a  doctor's  job,  and  Dr. 
Doon  was  a  successful  practitioner.  He  didn't  carry 
his  accusation  to  Miss  Grayley,  suspecting  the  cause 
and  motive  of  her  misdeed.  Instead  he  went  straight 
to  Conger,  gave  him  all  his  facts,  and  left  the  matter 
there ;  he  didn't  even  ask  him  what  he  proposed  to  do 
about  it.  Very  likely  he  didn't  need  to  ask,  for  a  tacit 
intimacy  had  grown  up  between  these  two  men,  and 
its  basis  was  mutual  understanding  and  admiration. 


274      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

Not  forgetting  his  promise  to  Mary  M.,  he  went  back 
to  Cap'n  Thoph's  to  gratify  her  curiosity.  What  she 
had  said  about  her  lack  of  excitement  had  struck  him 
as  pathetically  true,  and  he  would  not  have  blamed 
Mary  M.  if,  like  some  other  fillies,  she  had  not  only 
kicked  but  jumped  the  fence. 

Meantime  Conger  himself  was  wrong  in  imagining 
that  he  knew  the  reason  why  Cy  Small  had  been  hired 
to  take  the  life  of  the  yellow  dog.  Only  Miss  Gray- 
ley  knew  that  this  event  was  merely  to  square  matters 
between  herself  and  the  dog,  a  more  subtle  and  lasting 
punishment  being  reserved  for  the  master. 

Sometimes,  as  we  grow  up  —  and  they  are  happiest 
who  keep  on  growing  up  as  long  as  they  live  —  we  can 
look  back  to  triumphs  or  defeats  well  borne,  to  gains 
or  losses,  that  served  us  as  rungs  in  the  ladder.  And 
to  these  days,  following  his  break  with  Bess,  C.  Howe 
looked  back  in  after  years  as  to  the  most  important 
mile-stone  of  his  life,  though  at  the  time  he  was  merely 
conscious  of  the  purpose  to  live  his  life  according  to 
his  own  standards.  That  Bess  Grayley  was  by  no 
means  through  with  him;  that  she  had  laid  so  clever 
a  trap  that  he  should  henceforth  be  an  outcast  without 
friends  or  money,  he  could  not  know.  Only  Bess 
knew  that,  and  the  knowledge  of  it  gave  to  her  eyes 
a  peculiar  greenish  glitter,  to  her  imagination  the  joy 
of  those  who  conquer,  and  to  her  heart  the  comfort  of 
complete  revenge.  Barbara,  meeting  her  at  a  tennis 
party,  saw  it  and  wondered,  saw  that  she  hit  the  ball 
too  hard,  sending  it  out  of  bounds,  and  Barbara  trans- 
lated it  into  terms  of  wounded  pride  and  hate,  and 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      275 

she  was  sorry  for  Conger  who,  like  herself,  had  re- 
coiled on  the  brink  of  matrimony.  But  how  different 
his  treatment  from  the  fine  magnanimity  of  Galton 
Gragg  whose  letter  had  brought  her  to  tears, —  no 
word  of  reproach  or  bitterness,  only  regret  for  his 
loss  and  the  hope  that  she  might  yet  find  elsewhere  so 
great  a  love  as  could  kindle  her  own.  "  Dear  Gal- 
ton  ! "  she  had  exclaimed  when  she  read  it.  "  How 
I  wish  I  knew  how  to  love  you  as  you  deserve !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

So  many  things  to  be  understood  must  be  looked  at 
relatively:  a  trifle  is  no  longer  a  trifle  if  it  gets  in  your 
eye.  The  great  Darwin  was  much  troubled  because  he 
couldn't  account  for  the  tuft  of  hair  on  the  breast  of 
the  wild  turkey  cock,  not  because  hair  so  located  in- 
scrutably engenders  pride,  but  because  he  was  studying 
the  origin  of  species. 

C.  Howe  was  troubled;  there  were  many  serious 
things  to  trouble  him.  It  seemed  that  his  Oriental 
ethics  had  played  him  false.  There  was  no  telling 
where  the  spite  of  Bess  Grayley  might  lead  her;  and 
it  was  not  unlikely  that  Galton  might  misinterpret  his 
influence  with  Barbara. 

But  none  of  these  things  troubled  him  at  all;  his 
anxiety  was  lest  he  should  betray  to  Barbara  the  love 
which  overwhelmed  him,  but  which,  as  he  now  fully 
understood,  to  her  would  be  painful,  putting  an  end  to 
all  friendship  between  them. 

He  had  written  Galton  at  length  concerning  the 
fiasco  with  Bess,  assuming  all  the  blame.  In  reply 
had  come  a  characteristic  letter  from  Galton  explain- 
ing his  own  unhappy  trial,  and  at  the  end  this  frank 
avowal : 

"  Nothing  would  please  me  more,  if  she  will  not 
have  me,  than  that  you  should  marry  her.  She  thinks 

276 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      277 

you  are  a  very  unusual  man  —  don't  blush !  I  didn't 
say  it!  Curiously  enough,  I'd  like  to  see  her  happy." 

Conger  carried  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  and  read  it 
over  many  times  each  day,  and  every  time,  as  he  folded 
it  again,  would  come  before  him  the  picture  of  Bar- 
bara explaining  to  him  how  she  was  incapable  of  love. 

She  was  at  her  gate,  next  time  they  met,  and  she 
stopped  him  with  a  friendly  hail.  Then  she  spoke  of 
the  dog: 

"  I  am  so  sorry.     He  was  such  a  dear !  " 

'  Yes,"  Conger  said,  looking  away  toward  the 
shore,  "  I  loved  him  —  and  he  loved  me  —  that  means 
understanding." 

"  And  now  ?  "  Barbara"  said,  leading  him  to  what 
sort  of  answer?  She  didn't  know,  only  that  it  was 
dangerous  —  but  her  sympathy  was  genuine. 

"  Now  ? "  he  repeated.  "  I  have  no  longer  my 
friend,  my  companion.  I  think  to  go  back  to  Paris." 

"  And  you  will  see  my  beloved  Felix  fitron.  And 
some  fine  day  I  too  shall  come  to  Paris,  and  you  will 
introduce  me  to  him." 

"  So !  "  Conger  said,  and  was  thoughtful  until  she 
drew  him  out  once  more. 

"  But  have  you  friends  there  —  I  mean  besides  the 
dear  old  man,  friends  whom  you  —  love?  " 

"  It  is  such  a  difficult  word,  love.  The  Greeks,  you 
remember,  had  two  words  for  it.  One  for  your  kind, 
another  for  —  for  the  other  kind." 

"  And  which  kind  have  you  in  Paris,  that  you  think 
of  getting  back  to?  " 

"  Ah !     That,  unfortunately,  is  your  kind." 


278      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"Unfortunately?"  she  asked.  "Is  the  calm  so 
much  less  fortunate  than  the  storm?" 

"  If  there  is  moving  to  be  done,  yes !  " 

"And  you  are  anxious  to  move  something  —  in 
Paris?" 

"  Wherever  I  am,"  he  answered.  "  The  fleecy  white 
cloud  is  pretty,  but  one  admires  the  black  cloud  that 
holds  the  possibilities  of  the  tempest." 

"  I  wonder,"  Barbara  said,  and  paused.  "  The  pat- 
ter of  rain  on  the  roof;  the  coming  and  going  of  the 
tide ;  the  wind  in  the  trees,  all  those  are  moving  —  but 
not  storm  —  not  violent,  just  strong  and  steady. 
Why  aren't  they  better  ?  " 

"  I,  too,  love  the  sunshine  and  the  calm,"  Conger 
said,  seriously.  "  But  sometimes  —  do  you  never  feel 
so  deeply,  so  strongly,  that  no  calm  is  possible  then  — 
only  conflict,  struggle,  the  fury  of  the  storm,  or  the 
passion  you  despise  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  whispered,  for  what  he  had 
said  and  his  evident  earnestness  had  almost  carried  her 
away  from  her  boasted  calm.  "  I  have  always  felt, 
rather  than  believed,  that  letting  oneself  go  was  primi- 
tive, weak,  a  lack  of  control  and  proper  restraint. 
And  why  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  What  is  gained  by  it?  "  he  answered.  "  In  New 
England  it  has  always  been  held  that,  if  you  like  it, 
it's  wrong.  You  have  never  seen  in  Peking  the  song- 
birds that  are  tied  by  the  leg :  they  fly  a  few  feet ;  then 
their  tether  holds  them.  Little  by  little  captivity  clips 
the  wings  of  their  song.  I  used  to  feel  that  I  was  one 
of  them,  that  it  was  life.  My  mandarin  taught  me 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      279 

that  it  was  only  despoiling  life.  To  be  natural,  to  let 
yourself  go,  to  live  fully,  freely,  joyously  —  this  was 
to  get  the  best  and  to  give  the  best.  But  you  of  New 
England,  it  would  seem,  prefer  the  straight  and  nar- 
row way  that  leadeth  to  that  sexless  Elysium  dreaded 
by  every  honest  soul  that  believes  in  it." 

"  I  don't  subscribe  to  Puritanism.  Mine  is  only 
rudimentary,"  she  protested.  "  As  a  principle  I  be- 
lieve in  your  idea  of  living  fully,  freely,  joyously,  but 
in  practice  —  I  never  fly  far  without  feeling  the  tether. 
About  going  back  to  Paris  —  you  are  not  going  at 
once,  are  you?  " 

"  I  had  set  no  time.  But  why  ?  Some  commission 
that  I  could  execute  there  —  in  the  shops?" 

"  No  —  nothing  so  cold  and  calculating.  I  just 
didn't  want  to  lose  you  so  soon.  There !  Is  that  liv- 
ing freely  —  to  come  out  flatly  with  one's  thoughts  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  good  beginning,"  he  said,  "  and  it  gives  me 
a  warm  feeling  when  I  needed  friendship.  I  thank  you 
for  wishing  me  to  know  it." 

She  little  knew  that  he  left  her  then  abruptly  because 
he  would  not  trust  himself  to  go  on.  Banter  or  general 
discussion  of  principles  was  firm  ground;  when  she 
was  gentle  and  human  about  him  he  felt  there  was  no 
solid  footing  under  his  feet,  and  fled  rather  than  fall. 
For  he  knew  that  there  lay  but  one  choice  before  him 
—  a  cool,  calm  friendship  or  outer  darkness,  and  he 
chose  the  friendship,  hard  as  it  was  for  him  to  keep 
to  its  terms. 

Every  time  they  met,  and  it  was  daily,  he  was  con- 
scious of  holding  himself  in  check,  and,  because  it  was 


280      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

not  safe  to  let  their  talk  become  too  personal,  he  spoke 
oftener  than  he  realized  of  Paris,  confided  much  to  her 
of  his  life  while  there,  the  friends,  men  and  women, 
and  the  unconventional  ways  of  artist  folk.  He 
showed  her  how  the  protection  of  the  women  in  this 
life  lay  in  its  very  naturalness,  the  natural  inclination 
of  the  woman  to  be  helpful  and  inspire  the  best,  the 
natural  readiness  of  the  man  to  protect. 

He  was  looking  back  to  things  that  had  been, 
frankly  stating  facts  and  ascribing  motives.  She, 
looking  forward  to  his  return  to  that  life,  saw  in  it  a 
keen  personal  interest  in  one  of  the  women  whom  he 
classed  as  the  best  and  fairest  of  them  all.  He  was 
far  too  ingenuous  to  exaggerate  the  girl's  attractive- 
ness in  order  to  arouse  his  hearer's  jealousy.  It  was 
what  a  woman  would  have  done,  but  Barbara  knew 
that  he  was  altogether  too  direct  for  that,  and  conse- 
quently she  was  the  more  disposed  to  see  in  it  the  chief 
cause  of  his  desire  to  leave  America. 

Young  as  she  was,  Barbara  had  seen  enough  of  life 
to  learn  that  we  react  differently  to  different  persons ; 
that  one  seems  to  call  upon  us  to  be  entertaining,  an- 
other expects  us  to  be  wise,  and  one  calls  forth  all  that 
is  best  in  us. 

So  it  was  no  surprise  to  find  that  her  friendship  with 
Conger  seemed  totally  different  from  that  with  Gal- 
ton,  but  what  did  upset  her  more  and  more  was  the 
discovery  that  each  interview  left  her  more  dissatisfied 
with  her  own  part  in  it,  and  she  asked  herself  why  it 
was  that,  while  Conger  was  just  what  she  had  asked 
him  to  be,  it  didn't  satisfy  her.  He  was  going  away 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      281 

soon,  in  a  few  weeks,  back  to  Paris.  That  pleased 
her  still  less.  She  was  unwilling  to  be  more  than  a 
friend  to  him,  but  she  demanded  of  him  that  he  be  dis- 
satisfied with  mere  friendship,  claiming  the  love  which 
she  could  not  give  him.  She  was  really  afraid  that 
his  calm  acceptance  of  her  restrictions  indicated  not 
self-control  but  lack  of  interest,  and,  to  gratify  her 
vanity,  she  simply  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 
put  him  to  the  test. 

One  day,  after  a  hard  set  of  tennis  —  he  had  beaten 
her  three  straight  sets,  but  she  had  made  him  work  — 
they  were  on  the  way  to  the  beach  with  a  dozen  others, 
and  they  lagged  behind.  It  seemed  strange  to  Bar- 
bara that  she  had  always  so  many  things  to  say  to 
Conger.  As  soon  as  she  had  left  him,  each  day,  she 
was  sure  to  think  of  something  very  important  that  she 
had  forgotten  to  ask  him  about,  and  only  the  night  be- 
fore she  had  taken  herself  to  task  for  it  as  she  sat  be- 
fore her  mirror,  braiding  her  hair  in  two  thick  braids 
for  the  night.  It  was  a  very  pleasing  picture  that  she 
faced,  but  she  paid  no  heed  to  it;  perhaps  long  fa- 
miliarity had  something  to  do  with  that.  But  she 
challenged  the  girl  confronting  her  in  the  glass. 

"  Are  you  flirting  with  that  man,  playing  fast  and 
loose,  when  he  is  the  very  sort  of  friend  you  asked  him 
to  be?" 

The  girl  in  the  mirror  looked  embarrassed.  She 
didn't  relish  the  insinuation;  her  broken  engagement 
was  too  fresh  in  her  mind,  and  she  hated  triflers  even 
worse  than  the  self-indulgent  who  talked  of  tempera- 
ment. 


282      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  But  what  am  I  doing?  "  she  went  on,  and  the  girl 
in  the  glass  looked  her  straight  in  the  eyes  and  an- 
swered : 

"  You  are  just  being  natural.  You  like  each  other, 
and  Why  not?  Pooh!  Why  not?  He's  a  man 
grown,  and  will  look  out  for  himself.  You  can  de- 
pend on  that  —  the  man  looks  out  for  himself,  every 
time!" 

Barbara  felt  grateful  to  the  girl  in  the  glass  for 
giving  her  so  sane  a  view  of  it,  and  went  to  bed  happy. 

Then  something  woke  her  up  as  the  hall  clock  was 
chiming  the  half  hour,  and  she  lay  awake  because  in 
the  dark  it  always  seems  vitally  important  to  know 
what  hour  it  is.  And  then  the  hall  clock,  after  a  long 
Westminster  chime  that  had  the  right  tones  in  the 
wrong  order,  struck  four.  "  I  can  sleep  three  more 
hours,"  she  told  herself,  but  she  was  wrong.  Her  eyes 
were  very  wide  open,  and  she  was  blaming  herself  for 
ever  having  listened  to  such  blithering  nonsense  as  that 
about  Conger  looking  out  for  himself.  That  was  a 
falsehood,  to  begin  with.  Hadn't  she  expressly  stated 
the  terms  on  which  they  could  be  friends?  How  flat 
that  had  been  of  her  —  as  much  as  to  say  that  he  was 
in  danger  of  falling  in  love  with  her!  That  wasn't 
the  danger,  at  all:  it  was  that  she  would  make  him 
appear  in  a  false  light  before  his  friends.  They 
would  naturally  infer  that  he  was  in  love  with  her  and 
that  she  was  holding  him  at  a  distance.  It  was  her 
duty  to  release  him  now  that  she  could  see. 

"  No,  I'm  not  even  honest  with  myself,"  she  con- 
cluded. "  I  know,  any  woman  would  know,  that  he 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      283 

loves  me,  and  my  problem  is  whether  I  have  any  right 
to  allow  it." 

She  was  the  first  one  down  to  breakfast,  an  unusual 
distinction,  and  could  not  eat,  which  was  also  unusual. 
And  now  at  last  she  had  Conger  to  herself,  and  could 
talk  it  over  with  him  —  if  she  dared.  She  couldn't 
tell  him  how  she  had  been  puzzling  over  him  for  hours 
until,  at  the  very  last,  she  had  come  out  honestly  and 
admitted  to  herself  what  she  had  known  to  be  the 
truth,  but  would  not  acknowledge  because  she  didn't 
want  it  to  be  so. 

"  I  lay  awake  this  morning  a  long  time  thinking," 
she  began. 

"  About  —  ?  "  He  only  uttered  the  one  word,  but 
she  saw  that  he  knew  what  was  coming. 

"  About  us.  I  know  it  cannot  be  a  satisfactory  sort 
of  agreement  for  you;  it  is  liable  to  misinterpretation 
by  all  these  others.  So — '  here  came  a  long  pause, 
and  finally  she  went  on :  "I  am  glad  you  have  decided 
to  get  back  to  Paris.  It  will  be  better  for  both  of  us. 
I  am  not  like  other  people.  Something  wrong  with 
me." 

"So!"  That  was  all  he  said,  and,  as  he  swung 
along  beside  her  with  his  peculiar  easy,  sliding  gait, 
his  mind  was  actively  picturing  the  lad  who  trotted  be- 
hind the  'rickshaw  on  that  morning  when  he  had  been 
forced  to  say  good-by  to  Ya-tzu  and  take  his  place 
among  the  half -starved  boys  in  the  rug  factory.  Life 
-what  was  life  at  best  but  what  the  day  brought! 
And  one  must  take  it  as  it  came.  If  he  had  cherished 
a  wee  germ  of  hope  that  she  might  change,  he  had 


284      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

never  allowed  it  to  take  root  as  a  definite  possibility. 
Already  he  was  setting  his  house  in  order  for  the  life 
that  should  shut  her  out  completely,  but  should  go  on 
nevertheless  with  purpose  and  determination  to  make 
every  day  count.  There  was  not  now  to  be,  there  never 
had  been,  any  turning  aside  to  lie  prone  and  brood  over 
loss  and  disappointment.  Only  a  tighter  closing  of 
the  jaws,  a  deepening  of  the  lines  between  his  eyes, 
and  the  steady  keeping  at  the  things  that  make  up  life. 
Barbara,  walking  by  his  side,  stole  now  and  then  a 
glance  at  the  strange,  silent  figure,  and  recalled  how  at 
times  he  had  thrown  wide  the  windows  of  his  soul  that 
she  might  see  in.  No  closest  union  could  do  more  than 
that.  "  But  we  have  to  live  our  lives  alone,"  she 
thought.  "  No  matter  how  hard  we  try  to  let  some 
one  else  in,  when  the  business  of  living  is  on,  the  shut- 
ters are  down,  and  we  live  as  we  die  —  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

Twenty  centuries  ago  Pilate  asked  the  question: 
"  What  is  truth?  "  and  the  narrative  fails  to  record  an 
answer.  Is  it  fidelity  to  facts,  or  loyalty  to  supersti- 
tion? Twenty  centuries  after  Pilate's  famous  ques- 
tion the  civilized  world  is  divided  over  the  answer. 

Can  we,  then,  cavil  if  Bess  Grayley  heard  the  clear 
call  of  duty,  in  the  cause  of  truth,  to  expose  Conger 
Howe  and  his  heathen  standard  of  ethics?  It  was  not 
from  any  petty  motive  such  as  spite;  it  was,  in  fact, 
against  her  very  nature,  but  truth  is  mighty,  and  it  was 
for  Bess  Grayley  to  give  the  answer  for  which  Pilate 
has  waited  so  long. 

She  need  not,  to  be  sure,  have  furnished  it  with  a 
dramatic  setting,  such  as  staged  the  question  in  the 
beginning,  but  it  was  in  Bess's  nature  to  do  things  thor- 
oughly and  well,  so  she  did  much  planning  and  think- 
ing and  a  little  supplementary  prowling.  The  result 
was  that  she  acquainted  herself  thoroughly  with  Con- 
ger's habits  of  work.  She  knew  when  to  find  him  at 
his  studio  and  how  much  time  he  allowed  to  get  back 
to  his  meals.  Then  she  whispered  to  one  and  another 
about  a  startling  disclosure  which  would  soon  cause 
so  violent  a  disturbance  that  thousands  who  never 
heard  of  Waquanesett  would  be  reading  about  it  and 
talking  of  it  and  looking  it  up  on  their  maps.  Natur- 

285 


286      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

ally  some  of  this  prophecy  filtered  through  to  Conger 
and  might  have  served  as  a  warning  to  him,  but,  if  he 
understood  its  significance,  he  made  no  change  in  his 
habits. 

Conger  Howe  was  sick  at  heart,  and  rumors,  even 
though  heavy  with  portent,  concerned  him  very  little. 
He  was  going  away  to  break  from  Barbara.  It  was 
the  only  way.  She  saw  it.  She  had  told  him  that  it 
was  the  only  way,  because  for  some  inexplicable  rea- 
son, she  did  understand  his  feeling,  did  even  appre- 
ciate a  state  of  mind  or  emotion  of  which  she  herself 
was  incapable.  He  had  no  slightest  fear  that  this  new 
sorrow  and  disappointment  would  ruin  his  life  or 
wreck  his  career.  He  knew  that  he  was  going  to  grit 
his  teeth  and  clench  his  fists  and  go  into  life  harder 
than  ever,  that  he  was  not  about  to  mope  and  brood 
over  the  past,  but  to  postpone  thinking  about  it  until 
time  had  graciously  healed  the  smart,  and  removed  it 
far  enough  from  him  so  that  it  should  not  fill  his  whole 
horizon,  and  he  could  see  it  clearly.  This  was  what 
he  had  done  from  childhood.  Then  the  bitter  things 
had  come  so  often,  the  danger  of  worse  to  come  was 
so  persistent,  that  common  prudence  had  dictated  a 
policy  of  deferred  judgment.  By  the  time  he  was 
ready  to  review  one  grievance  another  was  on  top  of 
him,  and,  hard  as  the  lesson  was,  it  had  taught  him 
the  futility  of  worry.  But  the  consciousness  of  so 
great  a  break  in  his  life  was  a  dark  cloud  over  him, 
compared  with  which  all  other  disappointments  seemed 
but  trifles. 

He  saw  Barbara  every  day,  and  they  were  the  best 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET       287 

of  friends.  The  approaching  separation  must  have 
been  in  her  mind  to  give  that  new  reluctance  to  the 
gaze  with  which  she  left  him,  a  very  different  gaze  from 
the  greeting  of  friends  long  separated,  but  like  the  last, 
long,  tenacious  look  of  those  who  part  when  one  sails 
away  on  the  proud  ship,  and  one  stands  on  the  wharf 
and  waves  a  farewell  as  the  distance  between  them 
widens.  Such  a  sadness  parents  feel  when  children 
leave  home,  and  schoolmates  sometimes  on  their  day  of 
graduation.  It  was  not  even  an  argument  for  marry- 
ing, and,  if  Conger  had  only  been  like  her,  Barbara 
saw  there  would  be  no  reason  why  they  could  not  al- 
ways have  each  other.  What  a  pity  men  were  so  dif- 
ferent !  She  very  gladly  consented  to  sit  for  a  portrait. 
"  I  am  not  a  portrait  painter,"  he  had  told  her,  "  but 
if  I  may  take  you  for  my  model  I  will  try  to  make  it 
a  portrait."  She  knew  too  well  how  much  he  wanted 
it,  to  ask  any  questions. 

An  afternoon  in  late  August,  Barbara's  fourth  sit- 
ting, she  occupied  the  old  bench,  and  leaned  against 
the  weather-stained  boards  of  Myrick's  barn  that 
faced  the  north.  Salt  and  long  exposure  had  left  them 
silver  grey  as  the  rails  of  an  old  cedar  fence,  a  soft 
background  for  the  picture,  soft  as  the  light  itself. 
Something  of  the  hazy  atmosphere  reappeared  on  the 
canvas  at  which  the  man  worked  steadily,  silently,  his 
back  to  the  water,  to  the  long  stretch  of  beach,  to  the 
distant  figures,  twenty  of  them,  men  and  women, 
coming  slowly  along  the  shore  towards  Myrick's. 
Barbara  had  sat  there  for  two  hours  thus,  her  hands 
loosely  clasped  in  her  lap,  and  he  had  worked  in  silence. 


288      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

At  length :  "  May  I  come  and  have  a  look  at  it  ?  " 
she  asked,  and,  as  though  she  had  waked  him  from  a 
sleep,  he  started  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  then  smiled 
and  answered : 

"  How    thoughtless    of    me  —  I    had    forgotten  — 
everything!  " 

"  How  lovely !  "  sprang  involuntarily  to  her  lips 
when  she  saw  it,  for  there  faced  her  one  whose  beauty 
seemed  to  be  the  revelation  of  a  soul.  It  wasn't  she, 
Barbara  Wrayton,  looking  out  from  that  picture. 
"  What  do  you  try  to  paint,"  she  asked,  "  the  ideal, 
with  your  model  suggesting  only  the  husk  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head.  "It  is  hard  to  say  what  one 
tries  to  paint;  I  should  say  it  was  to  paint  what  one 
sees.  If  one  sees  outline  and  color  and  nothing  more, 
one  paints  the  picture  card.  But,  if  one  sees,  in  the 
subject  character,  deeply  graven  things,  good  or  bad, 
one  paints  them  as  one  sees  them,  superficiality,  depth, 
meanness,  nobility,  weakness  or  strength:  the  painter 
may  not  be  a  prophet  or  a  seer  but  he  portrays  what 
his  eyes  tell  him  is  there." 

"  Oh,  Conger !  How  your  eyes  have  deceived  you 
about  me!"  Her  exclamation  was  so  genuine. a  pro- 
test he  didn't  for  an  instant  mistake  it  for  a  woman's 
thirst  for  admiration. 

The  longer  she  studied  the  painting  the  more  deeply 
was  she  moved  by  the  spirit  of  that  woman  sitting  there 
all  unconscious  of  herself.  What  problem  was  being 
thought  out  behind  those  unfathomable  eyes  looking 
not  at  you,  but  through  and  beyond  you  ?  In  that  pure 
face  you  saw  the  ideal  woman :  there  was  neither  guile 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      289 

nor  self -absorption,  but  strength  was  combined  with 
sweetness;  and  with  singular  purity  an  unmistakable 
womanliness  that  was  neither  cold  nor  indifferent. 
"  It  is  not  I,  Conger.  But  oh,  how  I  wish  it  were." 

"  It  is  so  I  see  you,"  he  said,  looking  from  the  can- 
vas to  the  model. 

"  Then  it  is  so  you  idealize  your  friends  — " 

He  interrupted  her  here.  "  Of  what  were  you 
thinking  as  you  sat  so  calmly  here  these  past  two  hours  ? 
Was  it  of  yourself?  " 

"  I  was  wondering  about  you,  Conger,  about  what 
the  future  held  for  you.  And  I  was  regretting  that 
one  cannot  have  friendships  that  endure  without 
changing.  I  believe  I  was  wishing  I  might  change  the 
world  over.  And  then,  just  at  the  very  end,  I  began 
on  the  foundation  of  an  air  castle,  and  so  I  jumped 
from  that  to  being  curious  as  to  how  much  of  my  real 
mood  you  had  guessed." 

"  It  is  not  guessing,"  he  answered,  still  studying  the 
portrait  by  aid  of  its  model,  "  it  is  seeing." 

A  new  thought  possessed  her.  She  had  not  before 
looked  at  his  work  as  a  painting.  Now  she  exclaimed : 
"  I  had  no  idea  you  could  paint  anything  so  —  so  satis- 
factory, so  convincing.  It  isn't  I  any  more  than  it  is 
Relief  Snow,  so  I  may  praise  it.  If  it  were  a  picture 
of  some  one  else  I  should  long  to  ask  her  a  question." 

"  Then  I  am  satisfied  with  the  likeness,"  he  said, 
"  for  I  too  should  like  to  ask  her  —  many  questions. 
It  is  that  which  makes  people  interesting,  is  it  not?  — 
that  quality  which  invites  questioning.  It  presupposes 
the  existence  of  things  worth  finding  out,  of  answers 


290      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

that  might  be  given.  You  never  long  to  question  the 
stupid,  the  silly,  the  shallow,  though  they  may  be  beau- 
tiful to  look  at." 

His  praise  seemed  so  impersonal,  directed  to  the  girl 
of  the  picture,  that  she  was  not  embarrassed  by  it. 
Only  its  reflection,  that  about  it  which  did  pertain  to 
her,  was  delightfully  warming  and  invigorating.  It 
left  a  desire  and  a  purpose  to  try  to  live  up  to  that  other 
girl  who  existed  in  his  imagination. 

"When  did  you  begin  this  sort  of  thing?"  she 
asked, — "  expressing  your  thoughts  without  words  ?  " 

"  It  is  older  than  writing.  Perhaps  it  was  China 
that  gave  it  to  me  before  ever  I  had  been  taught  to 
read  or  write.  I  shall  never  forget  my  first  effort.  It 
was  the  Altar  of  Heaven  which  one  could  see  from  a 
point  near  our  house.  I  had  a  big  sheet  of  paper  and 
a  bit  of  charcoal.  Brother  —  that  was  my  little  friend, 
the  donkey  —  lay  at  my  feet,  flat  on  his  side  as  though 
he  were  dead.  And  he  was,  very  nearly,  from  cruel 
overwork.  I  could  see  where  the  circular  terraces  of 
white  marble  rose  one  on  another  until  in  the  centre  of 
the  uppermost  circle  was  the  stone  where  once  a  year 
the  Emperor  used  to  kneel,  surrounded  first  by  the 
circles  of  the  terraces  and  finally  by  the  circle  of  the 
horizon.  I  knew  that  then  whole  animals  were  sacri- 
ficed to  all  the  gods  of  all  that  vast  circle  of  the 
heavens.  And  I  tried  to  put  on  the  paper  my  boyish 
wonder  and  awe  at  the  thought  of  beauty  combining 
here  with  majesty  and  the  mastery  of  gods  —  other 
emperors  whom  one  might  not  behold  even  once  in  a 
year.  It  was  a  very  weird  production,  but  I  think  I 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      291 

got  the  outlines  of  the  picture  as  I  saw  it.  As  for  my 
spiritual  interpretation  —  !  " 

"And  what  became  of  it?     Did  you  keep  it?" 

The  color  came  flooding  to  his  face,  and  he  was  back 
there  again.  "  I  had  hardly  finished  drawing.  I  was 
holding  it  up  to  compare  writh  the  real  when  the  owner 
of  the  donkey  came  looking  for  him.  And  with  him 
was  the  Rat,  who  was  looking  for  me.  One  kicked 
the  donkey  —  his  feet  were  bare,  but  he  kicked  him  in 
the  head,  and  the  other  seized  me  and  beat  me  with  a 
stick  till  he  was  tired.  You  see  we  had  been  hiding 
to  escape  work." 

"  Poor  little  tired  fellows !  "  Barbara  exclaimed. 
'  You  and  your  patient  little  friend !  And  so  the  pic- 
ture — " 

'  The  picture  was  trodden  into  the  dust,  but  not  the 
spirit  to  portray.  After  that  I  drew  many  pictures 
for  Ya-tzu,  and  she  kept  them  all  carefully  hidden  from 
the  Rat.  Later,  when  life  had  opened  to  me  and  I 
was  travelling  with  my  mandarin,  he  got  me  a  chance 
in  Nanking  to  do  some  color  work  on  a  wall  surround- 
ing a  military  mandarin's  garden.  You  see,  the  civil 
mandarins  were  known  by  their  floral  decorations, 
often  on  the  high  plastered  walls  about  their  gardens. 
But  military  mandarins  used  animal  decorations." 

"  A  subtle  appropriateness  I  shouldn't  have  sus- 
pected in  Chinamen,"  Barbara  interjected. 

He  only  nodded  and  went  on.  "  I  had  seen  many 
camels  and  horses,  the  Manchu  bear,  and  numerous 
small  creatures.  I  fairly  revelled  in  that  work ;  it  was 
restoration,  but  much  of  it  quite  obliterated,  and  it  re- 


292      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

quired  only  the  minimum  of  talent,  mixed  with 
imagination.  Some  day  I  should  love  to  go  back  and 
have  a  look  at  it,  particularly  a  wonderful  dragon  done 
in  green  and  blue,  his  face  as  good  a  portrait  of  the 
Rat  as  I  could  draw  from  bitter  memory." 

"  You  speak  of  life  opening  to  you  through  the 
blind  mandarin,"  Barbara  smiled.  "  Was  it  then  you 
got  the  idea  that  the  object  of  life  was  power?  " 

"  I  think  that  was  the  beginning,  but  —  I  know  bet- 
ter now,  Barbara;  the  legitimate  aim  and  object  in  life 
is—" 

"  Wait !  "  she  whispered,  and  pointed  down  the 
path.  "If  they  hear  voices  it  may  tempt  them  to  come 
up  and  interrupt  us.  I've  been  watching  them  as  they 
came  along  the  beach,  the  regular  crowd,  and  Bess 
among  them." 

They  were  coming  up,  all  talking  at  once,  and,  in 
the  babel  of  voices,  the  only  distinguishable  utterance 
was:  "  What  sort  of  a  game  is  this,  Bess?  " 

Conger  turned  the  canvas  before  him  that  it  need 
not  be  profaned  by  idle  curiosity.  This  seemed  a 
deliberate  attempt  to  annoy  him;  he  had  never  en- 
couraged visitors. 

Arrived  on  the  little  space  before  the  old  barn,  they 
seemed  indeed  a  crowd.  It  was  Bess  Grayley's  party, 
and  she  took  the  lead.  Singling  out  Barbara  she  ad- 
dressed herself  to  her. 

"  We  have  come  up  here  to  see  a  certain  picture  that 
is,  or  was,  in  that  pile  just  inside  the  door.  It  is  a  pic- 
ture of  Relief  Snow,  not  a  good  likeness,  and  not  a 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      293 

picture  any  one  of  good  taste  would  care  to  own.  But 
we  want  to  see  it." 

C.  Howe  came  forward,  strangely  troubled,  for  he 
had  seen  Galton's  mother  in  the  group,  and  he  surmised 
that  she  had  been  invited  to  see  him  humiliated.  But 
how?  What  could  Bess  know  to  cause  him  shame? 

"If  you  know  what  picture  you  wish  to  exhibit  you 
are  at  liberty  to  find  it,"  he  said,  coming  close  to  where 
Bess  Grayley  stood.  Only  Barbara  caught  the  defiant 
look,  the  steely  glitter  in  her  eyes,  with  which  she  an- 
swered the  invitation.  Then  she  advanced  boldly,  and 
began  examining  the  pile  of  pictures.  "  Some  one  has 
tampered  with  them,"  she  declared,  breathless  in  her 
anger.  Next  moment  she  had  found  it,  and  came  out 
holding  it  in  her  hand.  No  one  broke  the  tense  still- 
ness. They  had  been  invited  to  witness  what  Miss 
Grayley  had  called  "  the  truth  revealed."  The  space 
was  small  for  so  many ;  some  were  standing  on  the  lit- 
tle grave  of  the  yellow  dog.  Mrs.  Gragg,  suspecting 
tragedy  in  wait  for  the  boy  she  had  loved  next  to  her 
own,  was  trying  to  wink  out  of  sight  the  tears  that 
would  come.  Dr.  Doon,  with  his  back  to  the  others, 
held  his  straw  hat  in  both  hands  and  revolved  it  hur- 
riedly, as  though  expecting  to  come  to  the  end  of  the 
brim. 

"  You  recognize  this  picture  ?  "  There  was  a  harsh- 
ness in  Bess's  tone  that  sounded  cruel.  Barbara  was 
looking  squarely  into  her  eyes.  That  might  have  ac- 
counted for  it. 

"  Relief  Snow,"  a  dozen  voices  proclaimed. 


294 

"  Then  look  carefully  at  the  forgery,"  holding  it 
higher  so  that  all  could  see  the  signature :  "  Felix 
fitron!" 

Barbara's  face,  a  moment  before  unusually  red,  was 
suddenly  become  deathly  pale.  Mrs.  Gragg  trembled 
violently  and  felt  that  she  was  going  to  fall,  and  Dr. 
Boon  was  heard  to  mutter  shocking  profanity.  All 
eyes  turned  from  the  picture  to  the  painter. 

They  in  the  East  who  take  the  place  of  beasts  of 
burden  learn,  like  them,  to  stand  relaxed,  but  still  as 
death.  So  C.  Howe,  once  "  Hsiao,"  stood,  his  gaze 
never  straying  from  the  face  of  his  accuser,  not  a 
muscle  betraying  the  depth  of  his  emotion.  A  very 
young  lady,  conspicuous  in  the  front  row  by  reason  of 
a  long  expanse  of  pink  clad  legs,  coughed  violently. 
Some  one  behind  her  asked  some  one  else,  "  What  do 
you  think  of  that?  "  The  spell  was  broken.  Headed 
by  the  doctor  and  Mrs.  Gragg  a  number  started  back 
down  the  steep  path.  C.  Howe  without  a  word  to  any 
one  put  back  his  easel  with  its  inverted  canvas,  and  the 
picture  of  Relief,  locked  the  big  doors  of  Myrick's 
barn  and  glided  out  of  sight  among  the  friendly  pines. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

There  was  very  little  business  between  trains  at 
Waquanesett  Station.  The  station-master,  who  was 
also  baggage-master  and  tele'graph  operator,  was  tak- 
ing his  ease  stretched  out  on  a  baggage  truck  where  he 
could  see  a  mile  down  the  track,  a  straight  mile  of  con- 
verging rails,  of  dwindling  poles  that  supported  a  lofty 
barricade  of  wires,  a  mile  of  monotony  carefully  meas- 
ured by  four  miles  of  transverse  ties.  There  was  no 
poetry,  no  romance,  no  inspiration  in  sight,  and  the 
station-master  was  nearly  dozing. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are !     I  want  to  send  a  telegram." 

At  sound  of  this  the  station-master  sat  up,  and  even 
put  on  his  cap  with  the  gold  lettering  and  two  gold  but- 
tons. 

"Why,  Rill!  Dear  me!  I  ain't  seen  you  sense  I 
dunno  when." 

"  No,  you  ain't,  an'  if  this  goes  an'  gits  back  yer 
may  not  see  me  again  fer  as  much  more." 

The  old  man  opened  the  door  into  the  tiny  sanctum 
where  he  was  wont  to  practise  the  awful  mysteries  of 
the  Morse  Code,  and  faced  Relief  Snow  through  the 
brass  grating  of  a  half  grown  window.  He  had  on 
his  spectacles  and  his  official  manner,  and  according 
to  custom  inquired :  "  Hev  yer  got  it  writ,  or  do  yer 
want  me  to  ?  " 

She  drew  from  some  mysterious  hiding-place  a  bit 
295 


296      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

of  paper,  and  passed  it  in,  under  the  protective  grating. 
The  station-master  read  it  through  slowly:  then  he 
looked  up  over  the  spectacles. 

"  So  Joel  went  to  Tacoma  —  I  never  thought  so 
bad  o'  Joel  as  some  on  'em." 

Relief  was  growing  fidgety;  she  hadn't  come  up 
here  to  talk  over  an  affair  that  no  one  had  been  able  to 
induce  her  to  discuss  even  with  the  minister. 

"  *  If  you  still  mean  what  it  says  in  the  letter  I  will 
come  right  away.  Relief/  "  the  old  man  read  aloud, 
counting  each  word  with  his  pencil.  "  That's  fifteen 
words,  Rill,  an'  the  rate's  awful  high  to  Tacoma.  You 
could  cut  it  down  by  leavin'  out  the  unnecessary  words. 
Now  see,  yer  could  put  it:  'If  still  mean  what  letter 
says  will  come  right  away.'  That's  ten  words." 

"  But  it  don't  sound  the  same.  It  ain't  the  way  to 
answer  a  letter  that's  been  waitin'  for  years." 

"  Like  as  not  Joel's  married  by  this  time,"  the  old 
man  suggested.  Relief  ignored  it,  and  getting  out 
her  pocket-book  asked,  "  How  much  is  it?  " 

"  Another  thing  you  ain't  thought  of,"  said  the 
operator.  "  Don't  yer  want  to  add  '  Answer  '  ?  " 

"  No  —  I  thought  o'  that,  but  I  left  it  out  o'  purpose. 
If  he  wants  to  answer  he  won't  need  no  one  to  tell 
him." 

"  I'll  send  it  fly  in'/'  the  station-master  said,  as  he 
counted  the  money  into  the  till.  "  It  'ud  be  an  awful 
journey  if  you  was  to  be  sent  for,  Rill.  I  'low  it's 
most  three  thousand  five  hundred  miles  to  Tacoma  — 
further'n  from  here  to  Europe.  Still  —  Joel  done  it." 
When  she  had  gone  he  watched  her  disappearing  down 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      297 

the  road.  "Gawd!"  he  exclaimed.  "I  wisht  I  was 
forty  years  younger.  Joel  wouldn't  git  no  sech  beauty 
as  Rill  travellin'  acrost  no  continent  fer  him !  " 

Back  over  the  forty  years  handicap  the  station- 
master  travelled  in  memory,  searching  for  a  face  to 
compare  with  hers. 

"  Damn'  if  she  ain't  been  kinder  hankerin'  all  this 
time!  An'  folks  callin'  her  cold-blooded!  Women- 
folks! I  ain't  never  heard  a  man  say  it!  " 

After  that  he  went  inside,  and  the  little  tapper  be- 
gan clicking  out  its  conversation  with  a  little  tapper  far 
away  on  the  Pacific  Coast,  raking  together  the  ashes 
of  a  fire  that  once  had  scorched  the  Cape  Cod  beauty, 
blowing  upon  them  to  see  if  any  spark  of  life  remained. 

On  the  day  when  Miss  Grayley  had  executed  her 
manoeuvre  in  force  against  Conger  had  come  the 
answer  to  Relief's  message :  "  Always  meant.  Mean 
it  now  more  than  ever.  Come  quick.  Anxiously 
waiting.  Joel." 

Relief  had  carried  it  up  to  her  bedroom  to  read  it 
calmly  after  the  excitement  caused  by  its  arrival. 
Breakfast  had  been  a  little  late,  and  they  were  just 
hurrying  through  at  half  past^six.  Cap'n  Thoph  was 
sousing  half  a  doughnut  in  his  second  cup  of  coffee, 
and  Ma  and  Mary  M.  had  begun  to  clear  the  table 
when  some  one  drove  into  the  yard  and  knocked  at  the 
back  door. 

"  Go  see  who  it  is,  Rill,"  Mrs.  Snow  said,  and  Rill's 
heart  jumped  before  her  feet.  If  it  should  be  the  tele- 
gram! She  hoped  it  wasn't.  But  it  was,  and  the 
station-master  explained  at  length  how  it  had  come 


298       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

the  night  before,  "  but  th'  old  hoss  hed  ben  out  on  the 
flats  an'  was  tired  out;  so  I  'lowed  the  mornin'  'ud  do." 

"  Thank  you,"  Rill  said,  and  crumpled  it  unopened 
in  her  hand. 

"Ain't  yer  goin'  ter  open  it?"  he  asked.  "  Yer 
know  I  took  it  down.  Yer  needn't  be  afraid,  Rill." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  said  again,  and  turned  away. 

"  Queer  critters,  women  an'  gals,"  the  station- 
master  confided  to  his  horse.  "  Give  'em  what  they 
want,  an'  they  ain't  no  better  satisfied  than's  if  they 
didn't  get  it." 

As  Relief  came  back  into  the  kitchen  she  heard  her 
mother  say,  "  It's  her  business,  an'  she's  ben  runnin' 
it  uncommon  well,  I  'low." 

The  old  man  looked  up  from  his  drowning  dough- 
nut, but  asked  no  questions,  and  Mary  M.,  longing 
for  excitement,  buried  her  curiosity  in  sisterly  affec- 
tion, and  washed  her  dishes. 

Relief,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  her  small  bed,  looked 
round  the  bare  little  room,  at  the  stained  window- 
shade  that  she  could  always  turn  into  a  picture  of  her 
mother  chasing  something  with  a  broom ;  at  the  cracked 
pitcher  and  broken  bowl  on  her  washstand ;  at  the  mir- 
ror one  half  of  which,  owing  to  mercurial  palsy,  gave 
back  no  reflection;  at  the  faded,  worn  carpet  under 
one  corner  of  which  Joel's  letter  had  lain  since,  a  month 
after  the  awful  disaster,  he  had  written  back  from 
Tacoma  begging  her  to  marry  him.  It  was  a  mean, 
sordid  room,  but  it  was  home,  her  sanctuary.  How 
much  more  cosy  it  was  than  she  had  ever  before  real- 
ized! 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      299 

The  telegram  lay  open  in  her  lap.  She  had  read  it 
a  dozen  times.  Joel  meant  it,  had  meant  it  from  the 
first,  wasn't  simply  willing  to  marry  her  because  — 
because  of  that.  His  letter  said  that  he  loved  her,  and 
years  had  passed,  but  Joel  hadn't  married  any  one  else. 
If  she  could  only  keep  her  mind  on  Joel,  and  not  get 
to  thinking  about  Myrick's  and  Him! 

She  put  her  finger  in  her  mouth,  using  it  as  a  pawl  on 
a  windlass,  preventing  the  recoil,  and  the  method  suc- 
ceeded so  far  that  presently  she  was  on  her  feet,  had 
emptied  her  bureau  and  the  old  wardrobe  of  her  scanty 
stock  of  clothes,  and  was  packing  furiously,  in  fever- 
ish haste,  and  the  tears  unheeded  followed  one  another 
down  her  cheeks  and  were  packed  with  the  clothes. 

Suddenly  she  stopped,  went  to  the  head  of  the  stairs 
and  called,  "Mother!"  Mrs.  Snow  exchanged  with 
Mary  M.  coinciding  opinions  (uttered  without  speech) 
to  the  effect  that  Rill  had  been  crying,  and  Mrs.  Snow 
panted  up  the  steep  back-stairs.  Relief  shut  the  door; 
the  two  women  sat  side  by  side  on  the  bed,  and  the 
mother  held  her  daughter's  hand  in  hers.  Relief  gave 
her  the  telegram  and,  by  reason  of  tears  in  her  eyes, 
and  her  spectacles  left  on  the  kitchen  table,  she  couldn't 
see,  and  Relief  had  to  read  it  aloud. 

"I'm  goin',  Ma  —  to-day  —  afternoon  train.  I've 
got  money  enough  to  get  out  there,  money  he's  paid 
me.  An',  Ma,  I  didn't  want  any  mistake  made  about 
him." 

"  You  mean  —  down  to  Myrick's,  Rill,  dear?  " 

Relief  nodded.  "  He  ain't  like  other  folks.  He's 
learnt  me  more  than  ever  I  knew.  Seems  like  he  was 


300      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

one  o'  them  magnifyin'  glasses.  I've  seen  so  much 
through  him  that  I  didn't  know  was  there." 

A  long  silence  followed.  Rill's  mind,  in  spite  of 
that  pawl,  had  flown  back  to  the  studio.  The  mother, 
holding  fast  a  daughter  whom  she  could  never  hope  to 
see  again,  had  gone  back  to  the  days  of  a  rosy  baby 
that  loved  to  be  cuddled,  and  a  tiny  hand  pressing  her 
breast. 

"  Ma,  I'm  goin'  ter  be  very  happy  with  Joel,"  Relief 
said,  at  last. 

"  I  know  it,  dear;  I  know  it,"  her  mother  said,  and 
kissed  her. 

The  packing  was  soon  finished  —  so  few  clothes  — 
and  of  treasures  there  were  the  Holy  Bible  her  father 
gave  her  when  she  was  eighteen,  a  few  story-books, 
a  celluloid  paper-cutter  she  got  at  a  church  fair,  but 
best  of  all  a  picture  of  herself  painted  by  him,  and  so 
big  it  would  hardly  go  in  her  trunk. 

On  top  of  all  went  the  sacred  purple  dress.  He  had 
said  he  liked  it,  only  he  liked  her  best  in  the  checked 
gingham.  It  was  easy,  in  a  way,  to  hurry  through  the 
farewells  with  father  and  Gene,  harder  far  when  it 
came  to  Mary  M.,  and  heartbreaking  to  tear  herself 
from  mother.  But  it  was  done  at  last.  She  and  the 
old  trunk  lashed  with  a  couple  of  fathoms  of  clothes- 
line were  stowed  in  the  "  deepo  "  wagon ;  there  was 
one  last  look  at  the  old  place,  at  father  who  looked  old, 
and  Gene  pretending  to  be  busy  in  the  woodshed,  and 
Mary  M.  and  Ma  who  had  their  arms  round  each  other. 

And  while  Relief  Snow  was  breaking  away  from 
the  old  life  without  trusting  herself  to  say  good-by  to 


301 

the  man  she  held  in  reverence,  Bess  Grayley's  party 
grouped  in  front  of  Myrick's  were  looking  from  Relief 
Snow's  likeness  to  the  signature  beneath  it. 

The  cat  came  out  from  the  kitchen  and  rubbed 
against  the  door-jamb,  holding  her  tail  very  high  and 
humping  her  back.  That  was  Relief's  last  sight  as  the 
wagon  turned  the  corner,  and  she  faced  the  long  jour- 
ney towards  Tacoma  and  the  new  life  and  the  waiting 
Joel. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

They  had  gone,  every  one,  not  chatting  gaily  as 
when  they  came  toiling  up  the  path ;  silently,  or  whisper- 
ing softly,  for  they  were  leaving  tragedy  behind  them 
on  the  cliff.  Conger  Howe  had  been  popular  with 
young  and  old;  despite  his  reticence  there  lurked  at 
the  corners  of  his  eyes  a  spirit  that  led  children  to  make 
friends  with  him.  And  they  were  sorry,  now,  that  they 
had  come.  Those  who  whispered  were  offering  ex- 
cuses based  upon  his  lack  of  training  as  a  child.  Only 
Bess  was  pleased,  and  her  enjoyment  of  victory  was 
marred  when  she  overheard  the  doctor  saying  to  Mrs. 
Gragg  that  somehow  it  made  him  think  of  Judas. 

Barbara  was  left  alone.  Unconsciously  she  had  re- 
sumed the  seat  and  the  attitude  in  which  she  had  spent 
the  afternoon.  Once  more  her  thoughts  carried  her 
back  to  that  air  castle,  now  a  ruin;  then  to  C.  Howe 
and  what  the  future  held  in  store  for  him.  How  dif- 
ferent her  judgment  as  to  that  future  from  what  she 
had  pictured  it  an  hour  ago !  And  they  had  all  turned 
against  him  now  that  they  had  seen  —  but  had  Mrs. 
Gragg  and  Dr.  Doon  turned  against  him,  however 
great  his  offence?  She  could  not  believe  that.  They 
loved  him,  and  love,  such  love  as  men  feel  towards 
each  other,  could  pardon  and  find  some  sort  of  excuse 
for  worse  than  that. 

302 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      303 

"  What  is  my  own  position  ?  "  she  asked  herself. 
"  Do  I  love  him  less  than  they?  " 

Then  she  fell  to  wondering  where  he  was,  why  he 
didn't  stay  to  talk  it  over  with  her.  It  was  not  fear 
at  least.  No  one  could  say  he  was  afraid  or  ever  had 
been  afraid  —  of  anything. 

Over  in  the  west  the  sun  was  dropping,  bright  red; 
a  bat,  the  earliest  riser  in  his  family,  ventured  forth, 
and  hovered  blindly,  squeaking  to  his  mate.  In  the 
nearest  pine  a  katydid  kicked  his  loud  protest  against 
the  sultry  heat,  and  dinned  with  his  incessant  dee !  dee ! 
dee! 

The  girl  still  sat  there  motionless  and  leaned  her 
head  against  the  friendly  boards.  Somehow,  the  more 
she  thought  the  more  her  own  life  became  involved  in 
his.  And  he  was  going  away  —  but  not  to  Paris  now. 
He  never  could  —  but  he  would  go,  all  the  sooner  be- 
cause of  this.  And  she  would  never  see  him  again. 
He  might  go  back  to  China  where  no  one  knew  or 
cared  about  the  French  school  or  the  name  taken  in 
vain. 

"  How  could  he  ?  How  could  he  ?  "  she  repeated, 
and  then  before  her  eyes  was  the  image  of  the  man 
who  had  stood  there  painting  her.  Was  that  the  image 
of  a  contemptible  man?  She  tried  to  plan  her  life, 
with  Conger  quite  left  out.  An  icy  premonition 
warned  her  that  he  had  gone  already,  that  she  would 
never  look  upon  his  face  again. 

One  by  one  the  stars  came  out;  a  thousand  insects 
trilled  and  chirped,  calling  to  each  other,  and  very  far 
away  a  dog  was  barking.  By  the  faint  light  she  could 


304      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

make  out  the  careless  footprints  that  profaned  the  lit- 
tle grave.  She  found  a  stick,  and  by  its  aid  repaired 
the  damage,  heaping  the  soft  earth  once  more  into  a 
decent  mound. 

On  her  knees  in  the  gathering  darkness  life  seemed 
something  different  from  what  she  had  ever  known 
before.  Almost,  she  thought,  as  though  this  were  the 
end  of  it;  and  she  had  been  thinking  it  the  beginning, 
had  not  yet  come  to  the  point  where  she  regarded  her- 
self as  grown  up.  "  But  I  have  lived  and  loved  and 
lost,"  she  pondered,  then  checking  herself.  "  But  have 
I  loved,  as  other  women  love  ?  "  And  as  she  tried  to 
answer  her  own  question,  not  once  did  Galton  come  into 
her  thoughts.  It  was  Conger's  image  that  occupied 
her  wholly,  his  deep  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  searching 
hers  for  the  answer.  If  only  this  hideous  revelation 
of  Bess  Grayley's  could  have  been  postponed  for  a  few 
days! 

"  I  haven't  loved  because  I  cannot  love,"  she  con- 
cluded, peering  out  into  the  darkness,  half  conscious 
of  a  sound,  the  faint  rhythmic  thud  of  footsteps,  or 
it  might  be  the  tapping  of  a  branch  of  the  nearest  pine 
as  it  brushed  the  back  of  the  old  barn.  She  was  too 
busily  absorbed  in  her  own  problem  to  question  which 
it  was.  Faithful  to  the  North  Star,  the  Big  Dipper 
hung  suspended  over  the  bay;  it  was  tipped  at  a  very 
friendly  angle  for  a  thirsty  child  to  drink  from  it,  and 
Barbara  was  thirsty,  a  child  once  more  in  her  longing 
for  some  one  to  take  the  responsibility  and  care.  Her 
hand  rested  fondly  on  the  little  grave. 


IX  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      305 

"  Poor  old  dog,"  she  murmured,  "  you  never  even 
had  a  name !  " 

"  Neither  did  I,"  said  a  voice  behind  her. 

"  Conger !  "  her  lips  exclaimed.  "  I  had  thought 
you  were  gone." 

"In  panic-stricken  flight?"  he  asked.  "That 
would  be  too  great  a  triumph  for  Bess.  But  did  you 
never  think  that  I  gave  the  dog  no  name  because  I 
never  had  one  ?  Hsiao,  meaning :  '  little  one/  spelt  in 
English  is  C.  Howe.  Neither  is  more  than  a  nick- 
name." 

She  saw  that  he  wanted  to  avoid  discussion  of  the 
afternoon's  disclosure.  They  need  not  mention  it; 
they  could  ignore  it  in  the  short  time  they  might  still 
have  together. 

"  You  didn't  tell  me,"  she  said,  "  what  you  had  de- 
cided was  the  legitimate  end  and  aim  of  life." 

"  I  remember,"  he  answered,  "  we  had  just  come  to 
that.  And  I  was  going  to  say  that  I  had  lived  long 
enough  to  discover  that  the  object  was  happiness  —  not 
mere  pleasure,  of  course,  but  happiness.  Emperors 
would  crush  the  idea,  dogmatists  deride  it,  egoists  scoff 
at  it,  and  priests  abhor  it,  but,  if  it  is  true,  it  will  live 
in  spite  of  them." 

"And  you  expect  to  find  it  —  in  Paris?" 

"  One  never  knows  where  or  when,  only  as  your 
Scripture  says :  '  Seek  and  ye  shall  find,  and  to  him 
that  knocketh  it  shall  be  opened.'  I  believe  there  is 
much  wisdom  in  that." 

"  Happiness !  "     She  spoke  only  the  one  word,  and 


306      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

shivered,  but  it  was  not  from  cold.  Some  wild  fancy 
prompted  her  even  then  to  ask,  "  And  if  all  the  world 
were  open  to  you,  where  would  you  seek  it  first?  " 

"  On  this  very  spot,"  he  declared,  "  and  now." 

She  had  risen  to  her  feet,  and  was  glad  she  had 
thought  to  repair  the  damage  to  the  little  grave  before 
he  could  see  it. 

"  There  is  real  happiness  only  where  love  is,"  he 
went  on.  "  Without  it  I  cannot  imagine  happiness." 

"  And  now  more  than  ever  you  will  need  —  some 
one  who  really  cares."  She  was  thinking  of  his  down- 
fall, what  it  would  mean  to  him  morally,  financially, 
physically.  He  had  never  before  seemed  so  much  in 
need  of  love.  An  accusing  voice  within  her  was  say- 
ing: "  Why  do  you  fight  against  it?  He  needs  you." 
She  was  glad  of  the  darkness  that  hid  the  rush  of 
color  which  she  could  feel  even  in  her  eyes,  for  he 
still  thought  her  interest  quite  impersonal.  It  seemed 
to  her  that  some  power  outside  herself  was  taking 
charge  of  this  interview,  rushing  her  headlong  into 
utterances  such  as  she  would  despise  from  any  one  else. 
He  was  going  away,  that  was  the  all  important  fact 
and  explanation.  A  few  minutes  since  she  believed  he 
had  gone.  But  he  had  come  back  to  where  they  had 
spent  the  afternoon,  and  now  she  knew  that  all  along 
she  had  wanted  him  to  come  back,  had  half  believed  he 
would.  And  why  did  she  want  him?  she  asked  her- 
self. Was  more  than  one  answer  possible? 

"  I  should  hate  to  think  I  didn't  love  him  when  he 
was  strong,  and  that  now,  because  he  is  weak,  I  can 
change."  So  she  reasoned  with  herself,  and  he,  never 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      307 

suspecting  such  a  possibility,  was  silent,  leaving  it  all 
to  her.  After  what  had  happened  he  might  as  well 
hasten  his  departure.  To  her  sympathetic  nature  it 
was  doubtless  doubly  hard  to  play  the  part  forced  upon 
her. 

"  Perhaps  because  of  the  changed  conditions  he  will 
be  too  proud  to  accept  —  what  I  can  give  him,"  she 
thought,  trying  to  fathom  him  —  it  would  have  been 
so  much  easier  in  daylight  watching  those  deep 
eyes. 

"  I  want  you  to  be  happy,  Conger !  "  Her  voice 
trembled  in  her  earnestness,  and  she  never  even  heeded 
it ;  there  was  none  but  Conger  to  hear  it.  She  stretched 
out  her  hands  to  him,  and  he  took  them  in  his  without 
a  word. 

Galton  had  taken  her  hands ;  it  had  left  her  quite  un- 
moved. Now  her  heart  was  racing.  He  must  never 
let  them  go!  But  he  would,  because  she  had  misled 
him. 

"  Conger !  "  she  whispered.  "  Take  me  —  in  your 
arms  —  I  want  you  to  love  me  —  I  want  to  be  a  part 
of  your  happiness." 

"  Why  —  Barbara !  "     That  was  all  he  said. 

A  long  time  they  had  been  sitting  on  the  old  bench, 
her  head  leaned  not  against  the  friendly  boards  but  his 
friendlier  shoulder;  he  too  happy  for  words,  the  after- 
noon quite  forgotten  in  this  exquisite  joy,  she  burying 
the  horrid  memory  beneath  the  great  new  overwhelm- 
ing tide  of  her  love. 

"  Why  is  the  bell  tolling?  "  she  asked,  breaking  the 
spell  at  last. 


3o8       IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  It  is  only  striking  twelve,"  he  said,  "  but  hark !  " 
A  voice  a  long  way  off  was  calling,  "  Bar-ba-ra !  " 

And  Conger  calling  back  answered  it,  "  Here  —  at  — 

Myrick's!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

'  They  are  coming  for  you,"  Conger  said,  resuming 
his  seat,  resuming  also  the  charge  of  that  brown  head 
against  his  shoulder.  "  But  they  need  not  hurry  now." 

"  Have  I  been  horribly  bold?  "  she  asked,  looking  up 
in  his  face  which  she  could  only  dimly  see.  "  You 
know  I  virtually  offered  myself  to  you." 

Suddenly  she  felt  the  shoulder  and  the  strong  pro- 
tecting arm  grow  tense. 

"  Have  you,"  he  spoke  nervously,  anxiously :  "  have 
you  done  this  thing  from  the  motive  of  pity?  I  had 
not  thought  of  this  phase  of  it." 

"  It  may  have  been,"  she  answered  fearlessly,  "  that 
what  prompted  me  in  the  beginning  was  the  belief  that 
you  had  need  of  —  love.  But  whatever  it  was,  it  dis- 
covered to  me  the  fact  that  I,  who  didn't  know  what 
love  was,  was  in  love  with  you.  And  if  you  need  me, 
as  I  hope  you  do,  I  need  you  a  thousand  times  more." 

Nothing,  during  the  hours  they  had  sat  there,  had 
been  said  of  the  afternoon,  Bess's  triumph.  Now  they 
were  coming  to  break  in  upon  this  heavenly  calm. 

"  Is  there,  perhaps,  something  you  would  wish  to 
ask  me  before  they  come?  "  he  suggested,  and  she  in 
the  panoply  of  a  new  confidence  only  shook  her  head, 
and  answered:  "No,  nothing!"  She  would  not 

309 


310      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

wound  him  by  seeming  distrust.  It  must  be  that  in  his 
own  heart  he  found  an  excuse  for  what  he  had  done. 
That,  should  satisfy  her,  for  the  present,  at  least. 

"  So !  "  he  answered,  and  she  knew  he  was  satisfied 
with  her  decision,  that  when  the  time  came  he,  himself, 
would  explain  his  point  of  view  and  willingly  discuss 
it  with  her.  She  wasn't  afraid  to  wait  though  it  was 
the  severest  possible  test  of  her  faith  in  him. 

"How  can  it  be  midnight?"  she  whispered,  "No 
wonder  the  family  were  disturbed.  But  at  first  —  I 
couldn't  go  from  here,  and  then  —  then  you  came  and 
I  wouldn't  go  —  not  for  all  the  families  in  the  world !  " 

The  voices  had  come  very  near,  and  with  them  the 
bobbing  lights  of  half  a  dozen  lanterns,  and  Galton 
Gragg's  voice  was  heard  saying :  "  I  know  it  was 
Confer,  so  she's  all  right." 

The  searchers  came,  and  found  them  sitting  there  on 
the  old  bench.  Barbara's  father  led  them,  his  anxiety 
suddenly  turned  to  petulance  that  he  should  have  been 
"  put  to  so  much  trouble  for  nothing,  and  your  poor 
mother  worried  to  death  for  fear  you  were  lost,  and 
here  you  are  simply — ."  At  this  point  his  extended 
hands  had  to  finish  the  sentence  with  a  gesture  indica- 
tive of  emptiness. 

"  Father,  dear,"  Barbara  protested,  "  don't  act  as  if 
you  were  sorry  no  harm  had  come  to  me." 

Galton  alone  seemed  able  to  take  in  the  situation  at 
a  glance ;  ignoring  his  companions  he  made  straight  for 
Conger.  Holding  up  his  lantern  that  he  might  see 
his  friend's  eyes.  "  At  last,"  he  said,  speaking  so  that 
only  those  two  could  hear  him,  "  the  impossible  has 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET      311 

happened  to  Barbara  —  and  all  because  she  felt  that 
you  needed  her.  Isn't  it  so,  Barbara  ?  " 

It  was  their  first  real  interview  since  the  broken  en- 
gagement, and  she  had  dreaded  the  reproach  of  this 
masterful  man,  was  quite  unprepared  for  this  sort  of 
loyalty.  It  almost  seemed  that  he  had  known  her  bet- 
ter than  she  knew  herself.  Gal  ton  and  Conger,  two 
friends  whom  this  supreme  test  could  not  estrange, 
friends  because  they  admired  each  other,  trusted  each 
other,  and  had  much  in  common  besides  the  love  for 
this  woman  —  Galton  and  Conger,  their  hands  united 
in  a  grasp  that  spoke  plainer  than  any  words,  read  by 
the  light  of  Galton's  lantern  all  the  story ;  one  the  story 
of  Barbara's  surrender,  the  other  how  a  man  can  un- 
derstand, and  understanding,  yield  without  bitterness, 

"  But  what  is  all  this  stupid  gossip  about  Felix 
fitron,"  Galton  asked. 

"  Surely  you  understand,"  Conger  answered  stead- 
ily, looking  into  his  friend's  eyes,  "  surely  you  need 
not  to  ask.  I  am  Felix  fitron.  It  is  but  my  Paris 
name.  In  Peking  Hsiao ;  in  Boston  C.  Howe ;  in  Paris 
Felix  fitron." 

"  And  the  silly  Bess  thought  she  had  trapped  you  — 
you,  the  guileless  — " 

"  Don't !  "  Barbara  exclaimed,  "  I  should  hate  my- 
self for  being  stupid  enough  also  to  have  believed  it  — 
but  it  was  that  —  his  need  of  some  one  —  that  showed 
me  my  own  heart.  Why  —  what  becomes  of  M. 
Beauchamp  ?  " 

"He  is  of  the  Latin  temperament  —  that  is 
enough !  "  Conger  explained,  and  Barbara : 


3i2      IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  LANTERN  STREET 

"  Haven't  I  declared  all  along  that  if  Felix  fitron 
were  not  eighty,  and  would  have  me,  I  would  marry 
him?" 


THE  END 


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